


The Drunken Chronicles

by lesbianbitchboy



Category: Saturday Night Live, Saturday Night Live RPF, Weekend Update (SNL)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Jewish Character, M/M, Slow Burn, They're all sad but it's gonna be okay, This is a big big mess, and also my first work, enjoy this shipwreck, might be some drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:07:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 21,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23105239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianbitchboy/pseuds/lesbianbitchboy
Summary: Klara is 16, and the youngest cast member ever preforming on Saturday Night Live. She's living her stressed out-life in New York, sharing an apartment with her coworker Michael Che, when things start to get twisted in her rather unusual friend group. She's a mess, Michael's not much better, and their friend Colin's life is falling apart. Welcome to the trainwreck that is the cast of Saturday Night Live.
Relationships: (but they break up), Michael Che/Colin Jost, Scarlett Johansson/Colin Jost
Comments: 25
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, and welcome to The Drunken Chronicles. It's the mess that is my love for SNL, Weekend Update and New York, all in one story. I'm assuming this will be about 5 chapters long, but you never really know. There is some foul language in this story because I couldn't stop myself. Enjoy!

Klara was drunk. Like, hella drunk. 

She had been working overtime to finish her sketch-ideas for the show. But lack of inspiration and over-all boredom left her reaching for secret booze stash. Sure, she's only sixteen. But she's employed at the most stressful job ever. Sometimes, or rather often actually, that calls for desperate measures. 

She stared blankly at her laptop, pretty sure it had gone black already, trying to come up with an ending to her horrible "if Donald Trump died" sketch. Her eyes were as dull as a winters day, and her mind foggy like a cloud, almost like she was going to pass out. 

Her last bit of concentration went to lowering the drink she had been sipping to the table and retreating down to the couch. She felt relieved, even though she hates sleeping at work. It leaves her feeling gross and disgusting. But she's drunk, lonely, and melancholic. How much worse can it get? She closed her eyes and faded into the darkness. 

Her dreamless sleep was suddenly interrupted by her phone, blasting her Never Gonna Give You Up-ringtone on full volume. The phone, probably committing suicide, vibrated itself off the table in the process. Stunned, Klara grunted and blinked her vision into place. When did she put an alarm on? She's not that responsible. But here it was, shaking on the floor beside her, making its presence known. The teen drunkenly reached down to fish it up, managing to press the snooze button.

Only, it wasn't the snooze button. It was the "yes, please, let me take this three am phonecall from Michael Che"-button. Much to Klara's surprise, it wasn't even just a regular phone call. No, it was a facetime call. So like the stuff from nightmares, Michael Che's worried (and possibly slightly sleep-deprived) expression popped up on her screen. 

"Klara? Klara!" he shouted. Quickly, she thought up an answer, which in her drunken state sounded like a sober thing to say. 

"Eh, yeah. Hi Mikey. What's up, my man?" Okay, that could've gone better. 

"Seriously, Klara? "What's up, my man"? Where are you, even? Its three am, and you're not in your bed. Klara, tell me you're not at work. If you are, I swear to god, I will kill you." He raised his voice to the point where you could almost hear the anger, boiling in his blood. 

Of course, dumb like she is, she forgot to tell him that she's staying at a friend's house or something. Anything. Because now he's going to come all the way to Rockefeller, having that disappointed look on his face. Just like his mother's. Klara can't deal with that right now. She still has sketches to write, god damn it! 

"Hello? Klara, what the hell is going on? Where are you?" Che called from the phone.

Oh, she forgot to answer him, and boy did he sound mad.  
"Yeah, so here's the thing..." she trailed off, not quite sure how to proceed. The silence was deafening. 

"Time to drop the bomb," she thought to herself. 

"...I'm at work. Before you say anything: yes, I know I should've told you I'm staying over-"

"No! You're not supposed to stay there at all, you fucking dumbass. You have to rest, for fuck sake." 

"Hypocrite," Klara scoffed. Because, if there's one person on earth who should rest more, then it's Michael Che. Fella sleeps about two hours every other day, so how's Klara the problem here? 

"...Okay, fair. But still," his voice faltered down a bit, leaving him sounding concerned rather than angry. 

"It's not healthy to stay at work overnight. Especially not alone. So I'm coming over, and dude, if you have issues with that, then I'm telling Mulaney. You'll have to face his "worried dad" eyes again. You want that, huh, you fucktard?" Fuck no. They could burn through her most delicate layers of emotional repression, so that's a no-go. 

"Fucking damn it. A'ight, come over then, but please bring coffee. I'm dying for a triple-espresso pumpkin spiced latte, preferably with peppermint. It's the holidays, gotta pay respect. Oh, and with oat milk. Gotta save them cows, bro" She sorta slurred her words, but kept her composure well enough to just come by as tired. 

She's a proud coffee snob and loves her baristas at the local Starbucks more than many of her friends. She's not fussy about her coffee, it just has to be right.

Che sighed and mumbled something about how "he never signed up for big-brothering a teenager," and how "he doesn't have the resources to dad-friend, damn it" before answering her.

"You're a menace. But I love you. Therefore, I will bring you your disgusting beverage. See ya' in twenty, you big mess." 

"Thanks, dude! Yeah, see you." 

She threw her phone on the floor and released the breath she had been holding. She had twenty minutes to sober up enough for Che to assume that she's just "being Klara". That's one of the few benefits of having ADHD, you get away with things you shouldn't be doing. Like for instance, drinking whiskey straight from the bottle, at three AM on a Tuesday night. 

She grabbed her hydro-flask (it's functional, goddamn it) and left her office for the first time in hours. The ground below her feet moved as she tried to waddle over to the water station down the hall. Good thing that she was the only one around because this is prime SNL Cast Groupchat- material. Their chat is 20% bullying Colin for his relationship with Scarlett Johanson, 10% coffee orders and 70% videos of the cast doing funny and/or dumb stuff. Those videos are later saved in a folder on Pete's computer for the annual "Best SNL fuck-up of the year-awards". So if anyone else showed up, then she'd be taped trying to reach the watercooler. Her legs like Bambi's, with her whiskey bottle in one hand a brand new hydro-flask in the other. Lovely.

She filled the bottle to the brim and forced herself to chug. Her mind started to wander off, and she somehow began to think about Brooklyn Nine-Nine. She remembered that quote from Jake Peralta, saying;  
"I'd rather drink ginger ale than water, Rosa. Seriously, ginger ale!"  
That cracked her up, to say the least. She giggled and managed to choke on the water in her mouth. She spat it out and bent down, trying to breathe, but accidentally knocked over the station in the process. Water spilt out everywhere, and in her weak state, she just retreated down to the floor and gave up. 

What was she supposed to do? She was drunk as fuck and soaking wet. She couldn't fix this mess before Che arrived, anyways. So she just sat there, waiting for her worried 'brother' to show up with her expensive-ass coffee. What a great Wednesday morning. 

They're not really siblings, her and Che. Last September, Klara moved from Sweden to New York to work on SNL. She needed a place to stay. Michael Che, the ruthless and hilarious comedian, had just gotten out of his rocky relationship with "some blonde idiot" and had "an empty room full of crappy memories and a little pig to take care of". And that's a literally little pig, they have joint custody over Pete Davidson's cutie Piggy Smallz. So after some consulting from her Mama and Papa, she moved her stuff over to Che's beautiful five-roomer in Greenwich Village, and she's been living there ever since.

Even though they're practically family by now, Klara'll never be prepared for the anger he can build up. Its almost like he's bottling up his emotions for years, only to lash out whenever someone close upsets him. They have to talk about that. So naturally, Klara felt anxious about the upcoming encounter. 

"Jesus fucking christ, Klara." 

There in the hallway stood the man himself, rocking a disappointed and angry, yet also concerned look on his face. 

"Klara works just fine, thanks," she retaliated. Hilarious.

He just rolled his eyes and reached down to try and help the teen to her feet. He failed miserably though, due to Klara puking out her guts at the sudden movement. 

"What the hell happened to you? Did you drink, Klara?"  
He was full-on shouting, trying to get her to puke into the broken water fountain instead of all over herself. 

"I'm- I'm so sorry, Ch- Che, so sorry" she sobbed out after the puking stopped. She was crying, god damn it, the alcohol making her more emotional than usual. Otherwise, she's a stone-cold bitch.

"It's okay, Klara, we just need to get you to bed, okay? Can you do that?" She mumbled some kind of response and, tired of her antics, Che just gave up the conversation and picked his phone up. 

"Hey, I'm... Yes, I know it's three o'clock, but shut up and listen. -What? No, I'm not arrested! Just listen to me. I need your help. I'm at the office and... let's just say I have a Klara-problem. Can you swing by and help? Pretty please?" Klara didn't pay attention to whom he was calling for help, even though curiosity was one of her main traits. 

"Okay. That's lovely. Thanks." Che finished the call and went to put his phone down. Klara couldn't help but notice a little smile creeping its way onto Che's otherwise stubborn face. His lips slightly curled, with a blush riding high on his cheeks.

Now that's interesting.

"Ohh, who was that on the phone? Big-man-Che's got a new girlfriend? Who is she? Is she Jewish? When can I meet her? Is she as famous as you, you- you big shot? Her eyes went insane with curiosity. Every chance to poke fun at her roommate will be taken. 

"Shut up, Klara. Not the fucking time, okay." He meant business. 

He put his phone down in his pocket and returned to his messy, messy roommate. By then Klara had managed to crawl up to a chair down the hall. 

"She's like a fucking toddler," Che thought to himself as he hurried over to help her. 

It's going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after Klara's little incident at the office, and some interesting conversations are to be held.

"Ugh, lights."

That's the first thought that passed through Klara's head as she woke up from her not-so-much beauty sleep. She felt as if she had been stepped, kicked and jumped on by that hoard that killed Mufasa in The Lion King. And that was a tremendous understatement. Her back was sore as hell, and her head was pounding with a hangover headache. She tried sitting up, only to find herself in desperate need of puking. She bent over and hurled all over the bed she was sprawled out on. 

"Real classy, Larsson," she thought to herself, as she lifted her gaze to look at her office clock. 

Only, the clock wasn't hanging there and instead, she was met by a large bedroom and a funky smell of fat meat. Where the hell was she? The last thing she could remember was falling down to the floor and Che trying to lift her up. She also recalled that Che called someone for help and some obscure Brooklyn Nine-Nine memory. But where in that process did she leave her office? 

Her mind was spinning, and some unwelcomed thoughts began to pop up. What if she was taken in her sleep? She's seen the news, these things happen to people like her all the time. Maybe someone got into her office, or grabbed her on the street? Maybe Che lost her? She began to panic and tried to find her slacks. Her clothes were, luckily, on the floor beside her, and she checked her pocket for her phone. To her displeasure, it wasn't there. Neither were her keys, wallet, or 30 Rock-pass. She swore out loud and jumped down from the puke-stained bed to the floor. She noticed that she was dressed in a lovely blue and gold Kimono, even though she doesn't own one. Well, at least she's wearing something. 

She hurried over to the door and listened thoroughly for any sounds coming out of the flat. To her surprise, she was met by some Katy Perry-sounding tunes, spilling in under the door.

"Huh, this rapist has some good-ass taste in music," Klara said to herself, trying to lighten her own mood. She figured there was somebody else in the apartment, so running away wouldn't work as an escape plan. Fortunately, Klara's Mama had made her take self-defence classes when she had moved to the States. She was prepared for every outcome.

Now dressed, she used all the momentum she had to kick down the door and launch herself at the attacker. Swinging her arms and jumping a foot and a half into the air, she was ready to fight.

Her gaze met the back of what appeared to be a man facing away. She ran over and took ahold of the man's arms, kicking out his knees in the process. The guy fell down to the floor, screaming out in pain. 

"Stand down, or else I will prosecute on the grounds of abduction," Klara screamed out. 

She was so riled up with emotions, she didn't even notice that the guy she was currently pinning down on the floor wasn't some random attacker. No, it was the exact opposite. 

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck are you doing? It's me, Colin, from work!" Colin Jost screamed back at her face. 

Then, Klara's head did that cute thing where it goes "404, does not compute". It took her a full goddamn minute until her cables reconnected, and her mind caught up with her surroundings. 

"Oh shit! Oh my god, Colin, I'm so sorry!" She released his arms and helped him up from the floor. She looked around and realised that she was in Colin's beautiful midtown apartment, overlooking the gorgeous Bryant Park.

"Well, top off the morning to you too, Klara..." Colin huffed out, stunned. 

"Yeah, sorry dude. I thought I was being kidnapped or something, so I kind of freaked out," Klara responded, equally as taken back.

"Oh, okay. Because that's the first thought that goes through your head when you wake up in a warm bed, wearing a beautiful Kimono, safe in a Midtown Manhattan apartment." Sarcasm poisoning his voice.

But one thing still didn't make any sense - how did Colin find her? As far as she knew, he wasn't at the office last night. But then again, she was drunk off her nuts, and pretty much the emotional equivalent to a trainwreck. Sue her. 

Also, bacon! She wanted, no, needed bacon right now. And if her nose wasn't as coked up as it felt, then that funky-meaty smell was definitely bacon. 

"Is that bacon? Oh my fucking god, if that's bacon, I will seriously kiss you, Jost," she exclaimed happily.

Colin smiled and said, "now that would be very, very inappropriate, Klara. I have a partner!" She returned the smile, beaming upwards at the taller man.

"You know, I think Scarlett would like for you to meet someone younger. For the weekends, you know. I think she'd be into that, don't you think?" Klara's smiled turned into a smirk as she spoke. She was being a little shit, no doubt about it. But when your friend is engaged to blonde bombshell Scarlett Johanson... the rules don't apply.

At that, Colin's ears turned red (he goes full catholic schoolboy whenever she mentions Scarlett, it's insane), and his gaze dropped to the ground. He seemed nervous, his blush spreading to his neck.

"So bacon, huh? Thought you were a vegetarian?" 

"Way to change the subject, Colin." Seriously, what's up with him?   
"And yeah I am, but not even the strength of my vegetarian-Jewish morals stands a chance to hungover bacon." 

"That's facts, fattie," Michael Che announced as he came waddling into the kitchen in search for food. Klara made him chop down on his meat consumption when they moved in together. Although, after some time and a lot of arguments, they both just settled for an entirely plant-based diet instead. They're Manhattan like that. 

"Mikey, why are you here?" Klara asked, confused as usual.

He let out a passive-aggressive huff and sighed. 

"Well our apartment is further away than Colin's, and since you were..." he paused and furrowed his eyebrows with annoyance.

"...Pretty fucked up last night, I didn't feel like taking a cab. I called up Colin and got you here. Now miss Larsson, would you like to explain yourself, maybe? How about you start with why, in god almighty's name, did you drink so much whiskey on a Tuesday night, that you pass out from alcohol toxication?" His voice did that cute thing where it heightened at the end, showcasing his worry and anger. 

Klara swallowed and stared down at her feet, pondering for a moment. She didn't feel like lying to the two young men in front of her. They were pretty much family. Colin, too. He had helped her out a lot back when she first got her job at the show, and the pair have since been closer than many. 

So close in fact, that it did surprise her that she didn't recognise Colin's (and Scarlett's) apartment when she woke up. She's been here countless times. To rant about work, to munch pizza, or just to accompany Colin during one of his rough mental health days. She had met Scarlett numerous times too. The two hit it off quite well, even going out for coffees on their own. They were all like a happy little family. And she couldn't be untrue to her family, her Mama didn't raise no liar.

"Well, I've been pretty stressed out these past weeks with work and all..." She trailed off, not sure where she was going. She didn't like opening up, it made her feel uncertain and weak. Although, she knew that both Che and Colin could see right through her. So why should she hold back now? She thought as she picked up where she left off.

"...And all the stress has kind of gotten to my creativity. I've been struggling to finish sketch ideas, and it's stressing me out even more. I thought that maybe if I'm lucky, alcohol could give me the burst of creativity I needed to get the job done, but I overstepped last night. Sorry, guys." Her cheeks grew red as she stopped to breathe. 

"So it has happened before? Drinking at work, that is." Colin asked. His voice wasn't angry, but it definitely wasn't calm either. 

"Yeah. It's been pretty much two nights a week for maybe the past month or so." 

Che's eyebrows shot up to his forehead, and his mouth stood agape.

Oh, she was in for it.

"Two nights a week? How is that even possible? Haven't you been home every night? I swear I've seen you in bed by eleven every day since you moved in!" He was full-on shouting now, but by the sound of it, he didn't care. 

"Well, Che, I've been in bed by eleven, and then in a cab on my way to the office by eleven-thirty, and then home again by five AM. Pretty impressive no-one thought I was a stripper or a hooker or something," She and Colin both chuckled, but Che fixed her with a glare.

"Sorry, a sex worker. I just made sure you saw me go to bed before I took off and went to work because I can't focus at home. Well, I couldn't drink either. And drinking, it fucking helps." What a fucking life she has. Tragic.

"Eh, duh!" Che exclaimed from behind his coffeepot. Colin stared at him with eyes that very clearly said 'behave, don't encourage it', then turned back to the teenager with a puzzled look on his face.

"But there's one thing I don't understand, why did you bother to go all the way home again after spending your nights at the office? Just to go back an hour later?" 

There was a beat of silence, and then Klara whispered out her response. 

"Because I miss it, the family stuff. Eating breakfast in silence with the news on in the background, with the "what's up today, then" talks, with Mama scolding me for my lack of sleep... so I went home. Che would be sleeping, and I'd turn the radio on some jazzy channel, and I'd make breakfast for us both, just like home." She was weeping like a madman now, fucking great. She really hated when she got like this, all red-eyed and emotional.

"And I guess a lot has to do with it being the holiday season and all. You're supposed to celebrate with your family, but you guys are probably going back home, and my parents can't come over. I just figured I'd celebrate by myself. But to be honest, it feels like shit. The thought of it, I mean. Like, no-one wants to be alone during the holidays, right? Colin and Che shared a look, and then both of them gave Klara a smile.

"Miss Klara Larsson, would you maybe be interested in celebrating this Christmas together? We get the Jost's over to The Village, and I'm sure Kate, Leslie, Pete and John would love to join us. It would certainly be an honour." Colin beamed as Michael asked her. 

The weight on her shoulders that had been too prominent these past weeks lifted, and the void in her chest filled up with happiness. 

"Wow. Sap" she responded, but with a fond smile on her lips.  
The boys booed her comment, and she laughed.

"In all seriousness, yes, I'd love to. Thank you, guys."

They shared a quick hug, and as they released Colin growled under his breath; "but if I catch you drinking again, you're a dead woman walking, young lady." She just laughed and shoved him off. 

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, tough guy. I puked in your bed, by the way." 

They returned back to their breakfast and Che, being an asshole, stole Colin's precious peanut butter sandwich. He started running around the apartment with a mischief smirk on his face. Colin ran after, trying to catch the half-naked sandwich-stealing fool that was loose in his home. Sometimes they act like a god damn couple, Klara thought. A messy, cliché, sleep-deprived one, but still. 

She leaned back against the counter and thought that this is what family really feels like.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short filler-chapter. I swear it's going to be more Colin/Che soon, but buildup is key!
> 
> Colin and Klara share a moment after that week's show.

Colin shot awake, his head pounding and his heart racing faster than ever before. Another night, another bad dream. This time it was his mother, his mother who ran off and left him alone as he was bleeding out on some backstreet somewhere. He had been shot in his chest, his brain making up the most unlikely of scenarios. Colin knows that his mother would never leave him, yet somehow he can't convince his subconsciousness of that. He has anxiety, surprise surprise, and nights like this aren't ideal. He's grateful for his mum, more than she knows. But that doesn't stop his brain from pulling all strings it could find just to hurt him.

He looked over his shoulder at the alarm clock Lorne got him for Christmas. The display shined out '4.09 AM' in bright, bold letters. Sunday morning, or Saturday night. He had only slept for forty minutes, coming home late from the show and afterparty. Scarlett had led the show and had done some great work. She was really an incredible actress. So naturally, he should've been excited. Excited for her, for them. 

They had kissed on stage, pleasing the fans and tabloids. Yet, even though he couldn't pinpoint why, he had felt cold and empty the entire time. Weekend Update had felt off - Che picked up on his behaviour, like always, and managed to play off Colin's bad mood as a joke. God bless him. He had thanked him when they collided in the doorway, both on their way to the infamous afterparty. 

That was step one of their afterparty routine; they'd catch up after the show and split a cab to the afterparty, they'd both get hammered and dance their asses off, and then they'd either pass out at the bar or go to their separate apartments. The headache that was pounding within his forehead told him that they went pretty hard last night. Not that he recalls any of it, though. 

Colin wished he was surprised by waking up at early hour, but this was more of a habit than anything. He's so used to waking up from a bad dream in the middle of the night, that it's almost cosy. He does the same thing every lonely night: he goes up to make himself a cup of hot chocolate, then jerks off, and then passes out.

Today though, he didn't feel like going back to sleep. He went up, swayed on his feet for a minute to regain a sober posture, (he just might still be a bit tipsy) retrieved his laptop, and started to work. His sketches have been hilarious recently, and like the hardworking comedian that he is, he's been using that to his advantage. 

But then it appeared on his screen, a sudden and loud-as-hell popup-ad for Menorahs, the Jewish candle holder that you bring out for Hanukah. It screamed out (literally screamed, by the way. Like full-on shouted through his laptop's speaker system) how "Hanukkah is just around the corner, and YOU need your new menorah today! Impress your family with this new beauty. Go to MenorahsInMaine.com, when you need that new, Jewish light in your life."

Colin slammed his entire fucking hand on the volume button, trying to silence the damn thing, but accidentally touching the Bluetooth-button instead. He's a smart guy, Jost.

The ad, which was apparently playing over and over, now blasted out from his apartments inbuilt speakers. He got so scared that he tossed his computer as far away as he could, thunking down beside his guest bedroom door.

"Jesus fucking christ, what have I done", he said to himself as he hurried over to his laptop. When he went to pick it up, he noticed a large crack going down its side, but he didn't pay it no mind. He was too busy trying to turn this fucking thing off. His ears were ringing from "menorahs.com, your new, Jewish light" chanting in the background. Then, the door before him opened, revealing a tired-looking teenager with her duvet draped around her in the doorway. 

"Happy Hanukkah to you too" she deadpanned. 

"Oh shit, that's TODAY?" he thought, feeling fucking stupid.  
Guess the ad makes sense now.

"Eh, yeah, Happy Hanukkah... Why aren't you at home?" 

"I went to the afterparty for a while, but it sucks when you can't drink. I didn't feel like going all the way back home, so I figured I'd crash here." 

"Oh, okay. Did you tell Che, though?" Klara shook her head. 

"Nah, I figured I'd make it back home before he rises tomorrow. I never saw him leave though, and the doorman texted and said he hasn't seen him. I guess he's at a girl's house or something." She shrugged and draped her duvet closer to her body.

Something within Colin felt like it had been stabbed. He shouldn't care so much that Che's sleeping with women of his preference. He should be supportive! Why did it even matter to him? He's in a relationship with Scarlett Johanson, christ sake. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling of rejection, blooming in his chest. 

Only then did he realize that the ad was still playing, loud as fuck, and tried to silence the damn thing.

"Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up! I'm sorry I woke you up, go back to sleep." 

Klara didn't move. Instead, she just sighed and watched him struggle. It must've looked hilarious, what he was doing. He stood hunched over, breathless from the frightening menorah ad, half-naked in his boxers, trying to silence the Jewy-Jersey lady screaming out from his roof speakers at four in the morning. You know, as you do. 

Klara's phone beeped, and she ended the recording she had been taking of him. Of course, why didn't he think of that? Now he's going to be top five at least when Pete wraps up his SNL Cast Groupchat Awards nominations, again. 

Although, he would never top last years winner, "Beck failing to do a handstand with his hands in ice-skates at the Rockefeller Rink".

"I don't know what you're up to here, Jost. If you need a new menorah, then why didn't you just come to me, the ultimate Jew? I know everything about this religion of mine. For example, I know that there are four questions that you ask sometime a year and that we eat raw fish to honour something. Not sure what, though. Oh, shut up."

Colin had raised his eyebrows with a smirk, because that's fake fucking news. She actually didn't know shit about Judaism, but she was raised in a Jewish home and tried (emphasis on tried) to celebrate at least two Jewish holidays a year. Her relationship with Judaism is... special. 

She hadn't even had the time to think about Hanukkah. The show had been draining these past weeks, with a boring show-host who couldn't write and musical guests with broken guitars. So naturally, Klara has been spending a lot of time out of the house. But then when Hanukkah morning came rolling down like the waters of a mighty stream, Jewish anxiety was embodied in the workaholic. 

Both of them kind of stared at each other from across the hall, trying to figure out what they were going to do. Klara sighed and spoke.

"To celebrate Hannukah, or not to celebrate Hannukah."   
Colin smiled, the famous New Yorkian-nightly streetlights lighting up his pale features.

"That's the question, isn't it."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuation of Colin and Klara's night in Colin's kitchen.

It was the early morning of Sunday, so naturally, neither Colin nor Klara had plans. When you work for almost twenty hours a day, six days a week, Sundays become holy. It's an SNL rule not to talk about the show or work in general on Sundays. People stay at home or go out for hungover brunches to unwind from their jobs before another stressful week begins. Che and Klara usually go to Bubby's, the breakfast joint around the corner, for pancakes and coffee. Plantbased, of course. Usually, a red-eyed Colin pops by too, looking like a sleepless cocaine addict with money. Sometimes Klara thinks that might just be the case.

After breakfast, they usually head home to, in Klara's case, take a shower and clean out the apartment. And in Che's case sit by the fireplace he installed "for heat reasons, Klara". He just sits there, staring into the emptiness of space for three hours straight. Special guy, Michael. The routine works for them. They're staying out of each other's space and allowing for new ideas and creative thoughts to pop up. 

That's why hosting a Hannukkha felt sudden and unwelcomed. It was a break from tradition and would take up both time and energy. Neither of them even knew how to bake the challah, and going deli-shopping took time and precision. Delis are holy and deserve full-days.

"Well if we start now, we could have everything done by eight," Klara stated. It was about four-thirty at night, or Sunday morning, in Colin's kitchen, so definitely enough time to get things in order.

"Yeah, but like, is it worth it? Can't we just, I don't know, get some kosher pastrami's and just light some candles?" Colin asked, the shine from the city that never sleeps casting light upon his pale features. His usually tidy and neatly done loof of hair was now flopping on his sweaty forehead.

Klara deadpanned.

"No, we can't. What do you think Hannukha is about, Col? Sandwiches? It's about the Jewish people and our journey from enslavement to freedom!" She spread her arms and shook her hands, riled up.

"...Isn't that the story of Passover?" Colin answered after a moment.

"Oh, you shut it. You Christian, white bread motherfucker. It is what I want it to be." 

She walked over to the kitchen island and hopped up on the counter. She pondered the outcome of the holiday as her feet swung back and forth. After staring at her for some time, Colin came shuffling over to join her on the table. There they sat in silence, swinging their legs and taking in the stillness around them. The air felt light, and they could almost feel the stress from the past week, slowly finding its way out of their systems. Colin's head felt heavy, and so he dropped it down to rest on Klara's duvet-covered shoulder. The streetlights were the only source of light at this late hour, casting a warm shine on the kitchen cabinets behind them. Their breaths evened out. In and out, in unison with each other.

"...I think I love him, Klara." 

"What do you mean?" Klara answered.

"I think I love him." 

He sighed. His shoulders slumped down, and his head went from Klara's shoulder to buried deep in his hands. Maybe in shame, maybe in frustration. His breath grew thin, and his head felt dizzy. Almost like he was swimming. His friend beside him noticed how his cheeks matched his red and swollen eyes. She has been with Colin through his worsts but never has she seen the man this helpless. Her chest hurt just at the sight of him. Klara's mind was spinning with questions, since curiosity is one of her main traits, but she figured that those could wait. There was only one question that she needed to ask.

"Who?"

Colin looked down at their feet. They were still swinging back and forth, occasionally hitting the island with his heels. The maroon-coloured blush that was covering his cheeks spread downwards, reaching his bare chest. 

"Michael. I think I am in love with Michael."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some questions asked, some answered. The pair goes to Sarge's Deli to untangle the mess that is Colin's romantic life.
> 
> Also, I lied when I said this would be 5 chapters. No way.
> 
> Enjoy!

Klara's eye shut close. Oh, how much she felt for him. 

"Like, romantically?" She asked.

Colin nodded and smiled sadly.

"Well, like... you want to date him?"

"Yeah. Fucking foolish, huh. Stupid me, right?"

"Come on, Colin. Don't say that." Klara pleaded, hearing the desperation in her friend's voice.

"What? Don't say what, Klara? He's straight. You said it yourself, he's probably at a girl's house right now! He's straight, and I am the hopeless, fucking clown who fell in love with him. With my best fucking friend."

His eyes deepened and became wet with salty tears. He didn't even try to dab them away. Why would he? As pathetic as he is, it's just fitting. 

The young lady beside him jumped down from the counter and walked into Colin's large walk-in closet. Confused, he was just about to follow her when she came back with two pairs of sweats and hoodies. He raised an eyebrow and tried to make out her expression, obscured by the darkness surrounding them. They looked at each other for a while before Klara spoke up.

"We shall be going to Sarge's deli, and we shall discuss this issue of yours. We shall do so while consuming celebratory Hannukha-bagels and pastramis. We leave now." At that, she gave him the clothes and turned her heel. 

After dressing in the expensive pair of sweats and the fancy Gucci-hoodie that he got from Scarlett, he joined Klara by the door. They grabbed their coats and headed out in the winter night. 

The air was cold, and Klara had to huddle up into Colin's side for warmth. They walked in silence, with Colin's arm slung over their shoulders. The pair were the only ones out, and the usually so busy streets of Manhattan were now quiet and peaceful. It reminded Klara of those nights back home in Sweden, where she would dream of walking the streets of New York at nighttime. 

"How do you even now that they're opened? Not a lot of places are opened at four am, Klara," Colin asked, just as they were crossing 3rd Avenue.

"Jews don't sleep, Colin."

"I highly doubt that," Colin said, matter-of-factly.

"It's true. We have to stay awake 24/7, so we don't get genocided again." 

Colin laughed and shook his head. They fell once again into a comfortable silence that held steady for the rest of their journey. 

As they arrived at the Deli, Colin shrugged his coat off and helped Klara to the table. They were the only ones in the store, and the only person working was sleeping by the bar. Klara went over and gently poked the chef awake. 

"Hi, My name's Klara," she pointed her thumb over to her heartbroken friend at the table, "and that's Colin. He's going through something right now, so I need you to wake up and give me three pastrami's and four bagels with schmear, please." The poor guy just straightened up and went over to the kitchen without saying a word. Just as he passed Klara, he hummed something about "those freakin' tourists, they nevah rest!" with a thick New Yorkian accent. 

"Thank you, Mr Deli! Very much appreciated! Now, please, do perform your magic, good sir!"

She chuckled her way back to the table and sat down opposite from Colin. Knowing Colin and his lack of emotional knowledge, Klara suspected that they were in for a long run. The Deli's yellow walls reflected on the table and made the place look warm and inviting. It was almost like a movie, except in a movie they would-be lovers, not a 30+ guy with a broken heart and his 16-year-old friend. The air felt loaded, like heavy storm clouds just about to release their first drop of rain.  
They stared at each other, just like they had been doing the night before.  
Colin was the first to break the silence.

"I know you have questions, K. Out with it." He looked down at the napkin he was shredding on the table. Its pieces scattered all over his empty plate and cutlery, like a bittersweet metaphor of his broken heart.

"Okay, but we need some ground rules. First of all, when I ask you something, you don't lie. Second of all, if you're uncomfortable answering, you pass, you do not deflect with humour. And last but not least, we are not leaving this Deli until you've gotten all your bottled up emotions off your chest. Does that sound fair to you, Mr Harvard?"

"What is this, Fight Club?" Colin deflected. He has never lied to Klara before, but just the mere thought of having to spill his emotional guts gave him the creeps. 

"No, it's Sarge's 24-hour Deli," said Mr Deli as he came over to serve them their food. Klara wheezed at his deadpan-humour and gave him a grateful smile.

"Thank you, Sarge. You're a hero amongst the people of New York." Colin added. As much as he liked to deny it, he's actually a real mushball inside. 

Klara took a huge bite of her bagel to prepare for the interrogation.

"Great. So, Colin Kelly Jost. Let's start simple. When did these feelings first appear?"

Colin's eyes blurred as if he was trying hard to visualize something. 

"About when Che's and I did our first year at SNL together. It was the autumn of -13, and I had just been promoted to supervising writer. With the job came a new office, this time with a view over Rockefeller Center. As I came in for my first day after the summer break, a man was standing by the window, singing along to the funk-music he had put on the speakers. I was awestruck because never before had I seen a 6-foot-5 snapback-wearing guy boogey his butt to "Ain't No Mountain High" by Marvin Gaye. I just stood there, watching him, until he turned around and said "enjoying the show, new coworker of mine?" without even a hint of a blush on his cheeks. That man was Michael, and I knew at that exact moment that I loved him."

Colin's hands were clammed in his lap, and his head was hanging low over his shoulders. He seemed to be in pain by just thinking about the memory. Klara could see ho his lips started to tremble, and how his eyes once again wet up. She was taken back by his straight-forward honesty, being prepared for a more uncertain answer. 

"Wow. Okay, yeah. That's a long time ago." She didn't know how to proceed. The usual chit-chat machine had for once been reduced to silence. There were still some questions waiting to be asked, though.  
Klara wanted to know, but couldn't shake the feeling that she was intruding on a personal matter. 

"I know you're thinking about Scarlett. Just ask," Colin read her like an open book.

Klara took a deep breath to calm her nerves before she spoke.

"If you've been in love with Michael for over six years, how come you're engaged to Scarlett? Isn't that... rather rude?" She felt like an asshole, but she really did wonder if Colin was in it for the paycheck or not.

"Well, I know, from the deepest part of me, that I won't ever get a chance to be with a man like Che. He's everything I'm not. He's beautiful, charming, tough as a rock, outgoing... straight," Klara raised an eyebrow. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind. Colin noticed her curiosity and said, "I'm bisexual. I realised it in high school."

Klara shrugged. "Dope. But back to Scarlett-"

Colin's hands raised in a stop-motion.  
"Woah, hold on. That's it? Dope? You don't have any questions or... mean comments, or anything?" Colin looked genuinely confused.

Klara shook her head and smiled fondly at him. "Colin, darling. I've walked in on you late-night googling 'Michael B Jordan shirtless' one too many times to not have some suspicions."

"Eh, no, no. That was... for the show! I needed inspiration!" Colin's cheeks went red as he tried to stutter out an explanation.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I love you no matter who you love, or fuck for that matter, never doubt that." She sounded so sincere, and Colin's heart just might've melted a bit. 

"Yeah, thank you. Means a lot." 

"Of course. Back to Scarlett, though. What's the deal with that?"

Colin seemed in pained by the mention of his fiancé. He really liked her. She was smart, funny, beautiful... but she wasn't Che. He knew he was being a real asshole by staying with her, but he craved the physical affection. Someone to cuddle with at night, someone to wake up by in the morning with arms and legs tangled. Someone to take care of him when his thoughts are spinning, and his heart is racing. For a while, that has been Scarlett. Hell, they're getting married, much to his mum's liking.  
He shoved another bite of the pastrami sandwich in his mouth and felt his starving hunger slowly fade away. Klara was already on her third bagel, and if he could read her well enough, was trying to secretly order two more without Colin noticing. The fluorescent lights outside the Deli illuminated the still so dark New York Midtown. 

He took a deep breath and braced himself. "I'm dating Scarlett to get over Che," deep breath again, this time a bit shaky. "I've realised I'll never have the pleasure of being with the man I love, and so I've decided to try to get over him. That includes sojourning with people, even though I might not feel the same way for them. But what else can you do, when you're in love with your best friend? It helped with paparazzi, too. She didn't want to get photographed every time she went out for coffees or lunches with her friends," Colin smiled, but it never quite reached his eyes. "But I do like her, just not... like her-like her. If that makes sense."

Klara, now with another bagel in her mouth (and in her hair, down her shirt, and somehow on her pants) looked him up and down. He didn't look too bad if you don't pay attention to detail. For example, how his eyes sported large, dark bags that seemed to actively sink him down, or how his shirt was unbuttoned to the third button, something Colin (in his right mind) never would've allowed. 

"It makes perfect sense to me. You love another man, you want to get over him and to do so you're dating another woman. I get it." Colin gestured that she was correct, and seemed thankful that he didn't have to explain it further. 

The pair was reduced to silence, and Klara came over to sit by Colin's side. They took in the New York skyline, how it irradiated their city and it's sleeping, inhabitants. Klara's mind began to wander off, as it always does. This time it ended up on that night by the watercooler some days ago. How she fell to the floor, how the coffee tasted, how cute Che had looked when he made that call, how disgusting it had been to pu- wait. Backtrack. The call. Who had he been calling? And then, like the mightiest of puzzles, the pieces came into place. She didn't say anything to her friend, though. She feared he might hit her, or something. 

The bagels were finished, and Colin was currently finishing the last pastrami. He looked over to the clock by the counter. 5.48 AM. Still, in silence, the pair shuffled out of the booth and Klara went over to pay, as Colin waited by the door. After a light conversation with Mr Deli, she came over and linked arms with her friend. Out they went, and on the horizon they could see the new, bright day beginning to take form. It felt like a new beginning, and Colin exhaled for the first time in a while.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for no updating the last couple of days, I didn't have any inspiration so I didn't get any writing done. But now I'm back on track, and I'll try to update more from now on. Enjoy!

"No, I don't mean that he's going to come out of the alligator's asshole, Che," Colin said in frustration. It was mid-Wednesday in their shared office, and the pair was desperately trying to come up with working sketch ideas. But all the lines fell flat, and the punchlines didn't really hit where they should've. They had about half an hour until read-through and had absolutely nothing to show for. Nothing. Or, well, they had the alligator-sketch, but that was more of a filler than a real piece. But they were in fact head writers, and that came with the crippling pressure of delivering well-planned and hilarious content every week. So here they were, stressed out and frustrated, Colin on the loveseat in the corner and Che by the windowsill. 

"Then where the hell does he come from? He just shows up outta' no-where and, I'm assumin', rolls off on his scooter?" He pinched his nose and sighed. "Where's the spark, Colin? Where's the humour?" 

Colin stood up and barked "What do you mean, 'where's the humour?' If you actually were a talented comedian, this would've been much easier! It wouldn't take a fucking week to write a basic punchline!" Colin knew he had taken it a step too far, but he didn't care. They never fought, ever, but he just couldn't deal with Michael's sassy ass right now. 

Upset and furious, Che took two steps and went right up in Colin's face.   
Colin could feel his hot breath on his forehead and swallowed hard. He really didn't want to linger on the thought that Che is literally towering over him right now. 

"What did you call me, Jost?" Colin didn't answer. "What. Did. You. Call. Me." But he was still met with silence. "You gave me this fucking job," he said in a low and rather sinister voice. "You hired me. You got me on Update. So you better keep your pretty little mouth shut about my abilities. I don't need your goddamn approval. And as far as humour goes, it's just a matter of time before Lorne finds another pasty boy to do your job. You're not fucking special." He stormed out of there, leaving Colin to wonder what the hell just happened. 

The pitch meeting was... awkward. Kate had picked up on some red flags right away, and she was making a b-line over to Colin, who was positioned by the now working watercooler. They shared a look, and she sat down next to him. The apologetic smile she offered him would've borderline pathetic, but this was Kate, and there's just something with her that screams "I understand. I feel your pain." She patted his back and was just about to ask what had happened when Lorne started talking. Colin scanned the room, Michael nowhere to be seen. 

"-worked better, right? Colin, what do you think?" Lorne said with authority. Colin tried to shift his focus back from worrying about his friend to the meeting that was taking place. Friend, huh. 

"Ahh, yeah. Definitely better," He said, trying to seem as though he knew what they were talking about. Lorne stared at him with his typically piercing eyes. "You don't have anything to show for, do you?" He said in defeat, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. Colin felt how the entire room, including their host, the great John Mulaney, stared at him in disappointment. His cheeks reddened and he felt like a kid in school, being told off by his teachers. He stared back at Lorne and said, "sorry, no. I'll get it done, I promise you, but I need another day. I'll work overtime tonigh-" He didn't even get to finish before Lorne interrupted him. 

"No, Jost. Go home. Get some sleep and come back tomorrow. We need you on your best game." Colin sighed. Never before had Boss Man sent anyone home. Except for that time Klara had tried to punch Donald Trump in the face, but she kind of had that coming. He slumped back in his chair and tried to focus on the scripts in front of him.

"What are you doing, man? Get outta' here! Go home!" Lorne yelled, scaring the hell out of poor Colin. He fished up his papers and his briefcase and practically ran out of the office. 

He took the stairs down, not realising before he made it the entire way down to the lobby that he had forgotten his coat at the meeting. Filled with guilt and shame, he just hugged himself tighter and went face-first out in the blizzard. He felt like crap, and couldn't wait to be back home in his bed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Che and Leslie meet up for lunch, and Leslie knows more than she should.

Che was staring at the foto. Himself, Leslie and Colin on Playa Del Carmen in Mexico, the summer of 2014. They were all smiley and sunkissed, Leslie sporting her best "vacay braids" and Colin in his baby blue wetsuit. The foto sparked some melancholy in him, but he had no time to deal with that right now. He was still really pissed off at Colin for escalating things earlier. He knew deep inside that the person he was really mad was himself, but his integrity wouldn't allow such a weakening feeling to take up space.

He had left work, storming off in anger, and was now just standing in his bedroom, trying to figure out how to explain his sudden absence tomorrow. 

It was almost five PM and he hadn't gotten something in his stomach since his cereal for breakfast. That was almost ten hours of starvation, which, for Che, is eight too many. He needed some good food right now -some ramen, or perhaps a bowl of kimchi. Since Leslie had left the show the previous season, they hadn't gotten the chance to hang out as much as they wanted. But when you leave your job in the middle of the day, why not make the most out of it. 

He took out his phone and dialled her number. After speaking for some time, mainly Leslie reprimanding his sloppy work ethics, they decided to meet up at a Vietnamese restaurant in the Village. 

"I love you, man, but I ain't gettin' no plant-based crap, capiche?" Leslie announced as they were about to order their food. "I really don't care, Les. It's the youngster, she's makin' me think about about the planet and shit. I've begun to fucking care, and lemme tell you. It sucks," Che retaliated.

"How is my Lil' chestnut doing, anyways? Haven't seen her in ages." Leslie asked. Che didn't really know what to say, so like always, he took to comedy. "Well, apart from her heavy drinking problem, her obsession with staying up all night and her mental health issues, I think she's doing fine," he counted on his fingers. Leslie stared at him with concern. "What? Che, baby, tell me you're kidding." Che sighed and explained the whole situation to her. 

"Wow. Okay. She's gonna' be havin' to deal with my angry ass more frequently from now on. I leave for what, 2 months, and it all goes to shit?" She shook her head and picked at her beef kimchi. Che chuckled, once again reminded of his companion's caring gene. 

They sat there for a while, gossiping about the different workplace relationships or the random host/musical guest hookups that happened from time to time. Che reckoned that the Chadwick Boseman/Cardi B hookup was the juiciest, Leslie differed and said that "nothin' beats when a very married The Rock got it down with a very married Katy Perry." Che had to agree. That was fucking wild. They had spoken about it for weeks, even brought it up at the reunion-party in September. 

"Well, my darlin' clementine, I should head back home. Got anythin' else on yo' mind?" Leslie stated as she was finishing up her meal and got ready to head out. Che pondered if he could tell her about it, about him, but decided against it. Too risky, too sudden. It wasn't that he didn't think Leslie was going to accept his sexuality, she's a Ru Paul's Drag Race judge for god's sake, but it's just so... complicated. Also probably more his own fear speaking, but he didn't feel ready to bring it up just yet. 

"Nah. Thanks for the meal, by the way. I'll get you back." He said, smiling. Leslie smiled back in a "no problem, dude" manner, and walked over to the door. Just as she was bout to leave, she turned and faced the man in front of her. 

"I'm here when you're ready to tell me about him, Michael." She smiled knowingly. At that, she turned her heel and exited the joint.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Texts between Colin and Kate. I'll post another chapter later, promise! :)

  
_3.28 PM_  
**Fake Ellen:**  
U forgot ur coat, buddy. 

_3.32 PM_  
**Fake Ellen:**  
Should I get it for u? I'll come over if it's ok. u might need someone to talk to

 _3.39 PM_  
**Fake Ellen:**  
Colin, did you delete my number or something? Stop moping and answer me 

_3:49 PM_  
**Fake Ellen:**  
did Lorne kill u? did I miss him tryna strangle u?

 _4.02 PM_  
**Fake Ellen:**  
yeah ur dead, aren't u. knew it. how am I ever gonna break the news to Scarlett? Ah, she's gonna be devastated. I might just have to... sweep in and help

 _4.10 PM_  
**Fake Ellen:**  
we might just go on to become lovers in a mountain cottage in the swiss alpine, with 7 cats and 8 cows. we will bury your remains in an opening in the woods, the ceremony will be emotníonal (that's french for emotional)

 _4.12 PM_  
**Fake Ellen:**  
im 2 secs away from mobilizing the national guard if u dont text me bc now

 _4.56 PM_  
**Me:**  
Katey, don't use contractions, you're 36 years of age. Have some class.

 _5.01 PM_  
**Fake Ellen:**  
The Man Lives!

 _5.03 PM_  
**Fake Ellen:**  
And have some class? Oh, Am I oh so very sorrowful, your excellence, haveth I, a mere peasant, thyn dignity demolished? I shall drown within the dishonour of this culmination!

 _5.04 PM_  
**Me:**  
Fuck off, Kate

 _5.05 PM_  
**Fake Ellen:**  
Love u 2, col

 _5.05 PM_  
**Me:**  
No hetero, tho

 _5.07 PM_  
**Fake Ellen:**  
boobs before boys

 _5.08 PM_  
**Me:**  
you're still 36, Kate. you sound like a dumbass frat guy

 _5.10 PM_  
**Fake Ellen:**  
shut it. im outside ur apartment btw. let me in or i'll let myself in 

_5.10 PM_  
**Me:**  
you're a special woman, Katie. im coming


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Colin and Kate share some secrets, and a special guest comes home. Drama unfolds!
> 
> It is so nice to read all the comments as I continue the story, it really keeps me going. Thank you!

Colin, still in his work suit, ran down to the lobby to let the woman in. They hugged and did their secret handshake (don't tell Leslie though, when they forgot to make her matching Best Friends bracelets she full-on punched them both in the face) and walked up to the elevator. 

"Would you like to tell me what is going on, Colin?" Kate said, in her typical mum-friend voice. They've known each other for god knows how long, and she could detect a bad mood from miles away. She had what Che used to call "the Colin Radar", which makes her pop up out of nowhere and go, "I think Colin might be having a headache". It's freaky if you ask Che. 

"Katey, I need to break up with Scarlett," Colin sighed, and dropped his head onto the shorter woman's shoulder. She took a second and then said, "There, there, dumbass," patting his messy fringe. "why would you break up with her, Colin? I thought you guys were just about to get married? I've been waiting for my maid-of-honour invite for ages now," She continued. Colin visibly cringed at the mention of their wedding. 

"Yeah, about that..." he trailed off. He thought this would've been an easy conversation, but no matter how many times he has to break the news, it just gets harder and harder. "I just don't love her, Kate. I just don't." 

The elevator pinged as it reached the 17th floor and the pair shuffled out, Colin's head still on his companion's shoulder. "Okay, and is there... - I don't want to be trespassing your emotional crisis-zone - but maybe someone else involved?" She asked with an insinuating tone as they entered the apartment and sat down on Colin's bed. 

He stared at her with wide eyes, debating whether or not he should report her apparent mind-reading abilities to the Feds, or something. Since he didn't answer, Kate kept on insinuating, "Maybe someone at work?" she said with a raised eyebrow like she 100% knew of his very secret - and very unprofessional - crush on Michael Che. 

"Maybe someone with a... dingdong?" She cringed at her fracing, but her point was clear. Colin wheezed, and threw his head back onto the bed. Kate joined him and laid her golden locks on his stomach.

"Colin, are you in love with Michael?" She asked after a moments silence. He took a deep breath and answered her in a small voice, "yeah, I am. How the hell did you know? No one even knew I wasn't straight?" Kate just laughed and said, "Colin, I've known you for what, 15 years? I remember you and I sitting in my dorm at Colombia, drunk off your nuts, and talking about 'the guy I met at the comedy club yesterday.' I've known you've been interested in guys since day one. My gay-dar is just that good," she said, her dimples riding high on her cheeks. 

Colin, suddenly way more relaxed, said, "well, bi-dar. I still like women, just... dicks have always seemed nice, as well." Kate laughed and her head bounced on Colin's stomach, making him chuckle too.

It felt so freeing for them both to finally speak about this, Colin felt like 20 pounds lighter, and Kate felt proud of her friend that he finally, after all these years, became his one true self. They were soulmates, no doubt about it, they just so happens to be platonic. Their bond has survived everything life threw at them, Kate's troubling anxiety, Colin's internalized homophobia, their first shared years on SNL... Needless to say, the pair have been through a lot. They just laid there, talking about everything and nothing, Kate on Colin's stomach and Colin on his favourite Harvard-pillow. Almost like they were back in college. 

"Honey, I'm home!"

Scarlett's voice broke the peaceful atmosphere in half. Colin and Kate looked at each other in despair. Kate's eyes said "no no no no don't you dare break up with her when I'm here" and Colin's responded with "I am so sorry but this is happening". 

Scarlett dropped her designer bags (that's bags plural) on the counter in the kitchen. Then they heard the fridge open, and the cling of glasses. Her feet came waddling over to their joint bedroom and pushed the door open with her hip. 

"Colin I'm hom- Oh, hi Kate! Didn't know you're here. 'S good to see you, you want in?" She asked and motioned to the bottle of champagne she was carrying in her left hand. Kate, being a nervous wreck as always, went "eh, yeah! Champagne is good! The taste is truly delicious! I can't wait to... drink this beverage with the pair of you!" She chuckled, no hint of genuine amusement in her voice. Scarlett, being the sweet soul she is, just laughed it off and sat down opposite to the cuddling friends.

"So what were you guys talking about? You seemed so on edge when I got home," Scarlett said as she poured them all some bubbly. Colin tried to make up an excuse, "oh, you know. Work. Comedy. Feelings." Scarlett raised an eyebrow. "Feelings, huh? Is something going on?" Kate and Colin looked at each other. Colin felt a beam of sweat rolling down his back, and Kate felt a sudden urge to shove the entire bottle of alcohol down her throat. 

"Guys, what's going on?" Scarlett said in confusion, as she was met only by silence. Colin looked over at Kate who gave him an "I think you know what to do" look. He sighed and placed his hands in his fiancee's. 

"Scarlett, I got to tell you something," he said in a low voice. She looked back at him with concerned eyes. "I... you know you matter to me, right?" Scarlett nodded and opened her mouth to say something. "Please, let me finish. I need to tell you this. I care about you, so, so much. I adore you, your intellect, your kind heart, the way you always care so much about others, how you make sure to always give back to your community, how you smile and laugh at my jokes, even though they suck," she chuckled, her eyes welling up with tears. "I cherish you so much. And because you're such an important person to me, I don't want to hurt you or treat you badly in any way," He took a deep breath and clenched her hands harder. "I haven't been true to you lately, Scarlett. I've loved you since I met you, but the love I feel for you is..." he trailed off. 

"...Not the same love you feel for someone else?" Scarlett carefully continued. He looked up at her with big, apologetic eyes, meeting her wide and sad ones. 

"Yeah. I... I am so, so sorry, Scarlett. I only want the best for you, and I don't think I am that anymore. I am so sorry." He poured his heart out and took a long swing of his champagne. Scarlett looked down, and first Colin thought that she was only staring away, but then he realised that she was staring down at the engagement ring he had put on her finger. His heart felt as if it had been shattered in a thousand pieces. 

"Say something. Please," he pleaded. Scarlett sighed. "I've... yeah. I've known this was coming for some time, Col. I've been on borrowed time since we got engaged. I've known for ages that I can't compete. I can't compete with him," She said, in a vulnerable and tired voice, as if she has been planning to say it for some time now. She probably has. 

"What do you mean 'him'?" Colin asked in confusion. She couldn't know, could she? She smiled a rather bittersweet smile and looked at Kate. "You know too, right?" Kate just nodded and went back to the champagne. 

"Colin. I've known you for a long time, I've seen you in all types of situations. On dates, dinners, at work, in bed... but you've never looked at me the same way that you look at Michael. It's different, and I get that. You like me, but you love him. I understand." She looked up at him and smiled a sweet and genuine smile. He was baffled, but returned the smile and pulled her into his embrace for a hug. He didn't know what to say, this was better than every single reaction he had played out in his head. "Thank you, for everything," he mumbled into her hair. She slowly pulled off and whispered, "I know things seem confusing, Colin. But he loves you, I am sure of it. Things will look up sooner than you think. I need to have some time alone, so I'll be staying in LA for a while. I know you love this flat, so you take it." She stood up and went out of what used to be their shared bedroom. She halted in the doorway and turned around to face him. 

"I love you, Colin Kelly Jost." 

She turned around and left him, and Kate, alone. 

Kate raised her glass, Colin did the same, and the pair clung them together. Maybe in celebration, more likely as a tribute to what's ended.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another group-chat chapter! I really enjoy writing these, and I'm thinking about making it into a story of its own. Like a "cast of season 45 chat" -fic? I don't really know.

Kate and Colin, both slightly hungover from the bottle of break-up champagne that Scarlett had brought, emerged from the bedroom first the next morning. The Tuesday 6 AM sun blinded them as they groggily dragged themselves to work, mentally preparing for a stressful day. Colin had to catch up on the chores he missed out on when he left yesterday, and Kate had about 3000 different costumes to fit. They split first only when they'd reached the studio, Kate off to her dressing room and Colin nervously closed in on his and Che's office. Kate took up her phone and opened her texts. 

**@Me** Created One New Group Chat:

_Operation: Saturday Night Love_

_7.29 AM_

**Me:**

The eagle has left the nest, I repeat, the eagle has left the nest!

_7.34 AM_

**Big Mama Bear:**

Kate, are you trippin'? Foh reaaalll? Like, the eagle (Colin) has left the nest (Scarlett)? 

_7.35 AM_

**Me:**

Yes, Leslie, "foh reallll"!!!!! He's free as a bird! Operation Saturday Night Love is a-go!

_7.37 AM_

**Big Mama Bear:**

Holy shit!! Okokokok what do we do now den 

_7.37 AM_

**Big Mama Bear:**

how do we take this to The Next Level

_7.39 AM_

**Me:**

First, we add the original Chost-fan 

**@Me** _added_ **@KlaraThinks** _to the group "Operation: Saturday Night Love"_

_7.40 AM_

**KlaraThinks:**

what is this who are you what is happening

_7.41 AM_

**KlaraThinks:**

OHHH ok hi Leslie and Kate

_7.42 AM_

**KlaraThinks:**

THEY'RE BROKEN UP? I Am Alive I Am Awake I Have Skin My Pores Are Cleansed

_7.43 AM_

**Big Mama Bear:**

honestly kid what went wrong in the making of your brain

_7.45 AM_

**Me:**

Leslie stop bullying the kid she's vulnerable 

_7.45 AM_

**KlaraThinks:**

yeah Leslie, stop bullying the kid she's vulnerable 

_7.46 AM_

**Big Mama Bear:**

I want a divorce. I hate everyone in this bar

_7.48 AM_

**Me:**

love you too, munchkin 

_7.50 AM_

**KlaraThinks:**

back to the fucking subject, how are we gonna get #2 and #3 messes to bone 

_7.50 AM_

**Me:**

who's #1 mess?

_7.51 AM_

**KlaraThinks:**

me, obvs. try and keep up. it takes a village. now. I'm thinkin':

  * we trap them in an elevator
  * we cause it to stop
  * we don't let them out until they've made up (fucked).



what do you guys think

_7.55 AM_

**Big Mama Bear:**

nope. Colin's afraid of small spaces. he won't... u know, get it up. I should know. I tried once, ended horribly. I say we wait a week or so, let them figure it all out, then we get them drunk, they fuck, we're good. 

_7.56 AM_

**KlaraThinks:**

I see now how my plan was somewhat dumb

_7.56 AM_

**KlaraThinks:**

...and probably illegal. So we doing Leslie's?

_7.57 AM_

**Me:**

all in favour of "Plan: DrunkFuck" say "aye"

_7.58 AM_

**Big Mama Bear:**

aye

_7.59 AM_

**KlaraThinks:**

aye

_7.59 AM_

**Me:**

aye. settled. 

_8.00 AM_

**KlaraThinks:**

well, ladies, this has been fun but it's 8 AM and I have shit ton of work to do. see you guys later, keep me updated on if (or when) my dads bone

_8.00 AM_

**Me:**

yeah I gotta get into costume now, cya soon

_8.01 AM_

**Big Mama Bear:**

love you dumbasses

Klara put down her phone and smiled. It's kind of awesome to be in a group chat with Leslie Jones and Kate McKinnon. This is her life now, apparently. She could get used to this.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Che is tired and stressed. But what else is new?

Che was typing away at a troubling pace, halting only to sip on his Peppermint Choco-Frap. The holidays were closing in and, even though he refused to acknowledge it, he was so consumed by the holiday spirit that he felt almost embarrassed of himself. The blizzard that remained raging these past days only seemed to increase, and if his (abysmal) meteorologist-skills didn't deceive him, he'd probably have to stay the night. Although, it didn't bother him at all, considering resting on his windowsill and gazing out on a snowing Manhattan, casually sipping on a hot chocolate and listening to some jazzy Christmas-playlist, genuinely seemed like a dream come true. But not yet, no. Now he had to finish five scripts during the time he usually needs to write one, his palm had cramped up some twenty minutes ago and he was currently running solely on a strangely potent combination of caffeine and anxiety. His body felt as though it would undergo a complete meltdown at any given moment, however, his brain was fired up and ready to go on for days. 

He took a drag from his Frap and muttered, "Work at Saturday Night Live, they said. It will be fun, they said. Huh, yeah. Fucking fun indeed! So fun to never sleep, always stress, havin' no time to meet your family, skippin' birthdays... so fun." 

"You mean that?" Said his door. Che whirled on his stool to face the now-speaking piece of wood. "Yeah, door, it's a har- Oh, greetings Lorne! How are you?" Che answered, two octaves too high, scared shitless. "I didn't mean... that. At all. No, god no, I love it here, jus' a hard day at work! Haha, you know how it is... I think I need some sleep," he stammered on, probably digging his own unemployment-grave.

"Well, I need scripts," Lorne told him, matter-of-factly. Che sighed and replied, "I'll have them on your desk in a half-hour, I promise. Jus' need to figure somethin' out first." He fidgeted with his the hem of his sweater and pleaded to all the gods in the universe that he would simply walk away, no questions asked- 

"What do you need to figure out?" God damn it, gods. He chuckled tensely, "Well, Colin and I aren't really... speaking at the moment. So it kind of slows the process down," Lorne just elevated his eyebrows and went, "Well you fellas better figure that out. I need scripts," and disappeared, leaving Che more stressed-out than ever before. 

It's so natural and effortless to work when you're two excellent entertainers, bouncing off each other's ideas, not just Che and his liquefying Frap. He shut his laptop and placed his head against the desk beside it, groaning. His body relaxed and his mind shut down. He closed his eyes and fell into peace. 

Poke. Poke. Poke. "Michael? Are you okay?" A faint voice beside him whispered. "Wha's going on?" Che slurred, regaining his consciousness. He popped a dull, cloudy eye open and noticed a certain Colin Jost gazing back awkwardly at him. He popped his other eye opened and straightened up in his chair. His spine cracked furiously at him, demanding some rest in a genuine bed soon, or they might go on strike. Much to his surprise, his Frap wasn't melted and appeared to had refilled itself. He gawked at his drink in confusion before Colin cleared his throat. 

"I, uh, got you a new Frappucino. It's oat-based Choco-Peppermint, since that's your favourite, right?" Colin said, uncertainty poisoning his voice. He seemed so petite like that, standing by the desk with one arm wrapped over his ribcage and the other awkwardly scratching his neck. Che's traitorous heart skipped a beat at the fact that Colin had memorised how he fancies his Starbucks. He grabbed his drink and spun his chair, facing the other man. 

"Thanks, man. I need to finish these scripts, Lorne came by earlier and scolded my dumb ass for not doing my job, and I kind of promised him to be done in a half-hour... that was," he glanced up at his office clock, reading 6 PM, "...four hours ago? Holy shit, I am so fired," he said, feeling how his heart begun to pound faster and faster. 

He forced himself back to his desk and grabbed his laptop. He scanned his table for the incomplete scripts, but located none. Panicking, he frantically sought his office for the missing papers. Suddenly, he sensed a tender hand on this shoulder and someone who guided him back to his couch. Colin peered at him with calm and steady eyes, "Michael, I finished the scripts. Lorne loved your work, and as long as I work here, your dumb ass is never getting fired." Michael looked at him with a facial expression that stated "holy shit, I've never been more grateful for another human being, ever" and suddenly, with absolutely no reasoning behind it, pulled the other man into a long, warm hug. 

They just remained like that, embracing each other, for god knows how long, until Colin leaned back and gently whispered, "I am sorry about yesterday, Che. You're a great comic, you're funnier than me in every way possible," Che's eyebrows furred, because hell no he isn't, "And I love working with you, and having you as my friend is everything I could've asked for, and more," He took a deep breath and yanked Michael into his embrace once over. Much like he had done with Scarlett the night prior. 

Che glanced back at him and felt his stomach sink. This is what Colin wanted. This. Them as buddies, as coworkers, is what Colin wanted them to be. He forced a smile and said, "Thanks, Colin. And, uh, I am sorry too, you know. Just, yeah. I am sorry." He really lacks this whole "healthy emotional coping" thing. They retreated to the soft cushions, and relaxed in a comfortable hush for a while, sharing Michael's new Frap. 

They had split up after some time to go to separate parts of the studio, Michael to the Update-crew and Colin to the dressingroom. The snowstorm didn't hinder them from getting into their "SNL work-binge mood," and the pair busted their asses off to get every sketch done and produced before the picking the next morning. Some evenings, much like this one, the entire studio grew quiet. Deadly quiet. Not because people were resting (they certainly should be, though,) solely because everyone became so caught up with accomplishing their duties, that they didn't even have to communicate to get their point across. Che could be working on some Update-jokes, and feel a stirring in his abdomen that indicated that somewhere in the studio, Kate needed help with getting her bear-mask down from a tall mantle, or that Pete required some company through a panic attack. It was almost freaky, how they all simply  _ knew. _ They understand each other so thoroughly that they barely used words to express themselves. Che considered it to be one of the most fascinating and beautiful things he's ever encountered. He just swiftly swayed about the studio, basking in the glory of peace and stillness.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas at the office, and our boys share a special evening.

The clock before Colin's tired eyes read 12.06 AM. He really should go to bed, shouldn't he? His eyes travelled from the clock to the office window and met the most magnificent snowflakes he'd ever witnessed. They filled up the avenues of Manhattan, making it completely impossible to leave and go home. He assembled his scripts and began walking to his and Che's office. 

As he shoved the door ajar with his elbow, he was met with a display from a fucking Hallmark Christmas movie. 

Michael Che was sitting, curled up under a blanket on their shared sofa, sipping on a mug of hot chocolate, listening to "It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year" in the speaker system, and gazing out on the snowing city outside of their window. He had decorated the room with sparkling snowflakes, wreaths, ornaments, and behind the  _ huge  _ Christmas tree and the pile of gifts underneath, he had even set out a functioning fireplace, complete with a set of stockings dangling over the countertop.

Colin just stood there, mouth agape, his eyes reflecting the holiday-themed shimmering lights in the ceiling. His nostrils picked up on the faint scent on pinecone and cinnamon, and his stomach felt warm and fussy with holiday merriness. He noiselessly walked over to where Che had placed a pot of chocolate and served himself some sweetness. He piled on enormous amounts of whipped cream and sprinkled some red, white and green stars on top. Without making any noise, he went over and sat down alongside Michael on the couch. It was large enough to fit them both, with some effort. His friend spun around and shuffled over so that Colin could take a seat beside him. "You like it?" He asked, confident and joyful. Colin huffed and stole another glance at the office. "You kiddin' me, Che? It's beautiful." Che beamed, "Yeah, yeah, it was nothin'. If you tell anyone I've done this, though, I'll kill you, you Christian motherfucker," He said, threatening. Colin chuckled, "I won't promise anything, our coworkers need to know just how mushy the famous "Street Cred Michael Che" is," he teased. Michael aimed at him with his chocolate-covered spoon. "Oh, I wouldn't do that, Jost. Jus' might have to kill you for it." 

They drank their drinks and chattered on, debating whether or not edibles count as food. "Of course," Che reckoned, "They're literally called edibles, Jost, as in These Are Edible. Y'know what name edible things normally go by? 'Food.'" Colin begged to fucking differ, "Well, you know what else is edible? Poo. Is that food, too?" They disputed for some time, without reaching a verdict. "Che, you can't live solely on edibles. You'd die," Colin proposed. Che held up his finger to his mouth and shushed Colin. "Pete! Come 'ere!" He yelled through the studio, knowing none of the cast was napping anyway, even though it closed up on 1.30 AM.

Pete came trotting over, obscure and high. "Need help or somethin', Che?" He murmured, exhausted and practically unconscious. 

"Yo, Petey, I need you to solve this beef that the dumbass and I are having, aight," Che said to the young man, currently collapsed on the carpet by the door. "Does edibles count as food?" Pete stared back at them with perplexed eyes. "Is this a test? Did Lorne send you? Am I under investigation for possession of edibles? I plead the fifth!" He shrieked, about to run off. "No, no, you big mess. No, just answer. Edibles: food, or nah?" Pete remained cynical, but replied, "yeah, I'd say so, sure. You can live on edibles for about three and a half weeks until your organs fail. Your liver gives out first, I think. Then your kidneys, and then your heart," He said, standing up. "Need somethin' else?"

Che, slightly horrified of Pete's surprisingly excellent information regarding organ failure due to a drugged diet, just shook his head, and Pete nodded and left. "See? You  _ can  _ count edibles as food!" He told Colin, who raised his hands in defeat. "I stand corrected." 

They retreated to silence and looked out on the nightly lights outside. They sat close, they didn't really have an option since the couch had limited spacing, but not really touching. Colin wanted nothing else than to pull Che's blanket up and cuddle in beside him. But that would be devastating. Instead, he rested his tired head on the sofa cushions and dragged his knees up to his chest. His eyes felt heavy and he failed to keep them opened. He was drifting off, pulled closer and closer into the darkness. If he felt someone stroke his forehead and place his drink back onto the table, then that was definitely a dream. 

Che gazed at the sleeping man beside him and felt his heartstrings tug. He had noticed his reaction in the window as he spotted all the decorations. He had seemed so gleefully impressed, and suddenly all the pent up stress Che had felt just simmered off. He observed how Colin's chest rose and fell, how his eyelashes fluttered, how his jaw slackened. It all felt so painfully domestic, Colin snoring next to him as he finished his chocolate and listened to "White Christmas". 

"To have this every day, huh. What I dream that would be," he said to himself, as he too lowered his drink and spread out. He closed his eyes and tugged his blanket tighter around his shivering frame. 

"Goodnight, Colin." He took a deep breath and eased out. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're getting closer and closer to the end! The sexual tension in this chapter is as thick as Colin's butt, sorry not sorry.

Just as the sun worked its way up on the horizon, Colin began to stir awake. The glowing heat radiating below him felt inviting, and he nestled in closer. He'd always been a cuddler. His arms were tucked around the misty essence of warmth and his chin was propped up against something firm and clothed. His breathing remained even with the rising and falling of the solid form underneath him, bringing him peace in his awakening. Suddenly, the frame on which his head was resting on appeared to began twist and turn, and he sensed a breeze of hot breath against his hair. 

"Oh No. No no  _ no no no-"  _ he thought to himself, as he came to the horrifying conclusion that he wasn't pressed up against a radiator, he was cuddled up on top of Michael Che's warm and solid body. His mind completely shut off and for a moment, and he just laid there in complete shock. On one hand, he knew he should get up and seem like nothing happened, that's probably what Michael would've done, but on the other hand, he really couldn't bring himself to leave. He didn't want to. He felt so warm, safe, secure... "god damn it, Colin, get it together," he whispered to himself as he tried to break the spell that Che's cuddling embrace cast on him. But the more he tried to convince himself to get up, the more he realised that he could just cuddle closer and shoot the consequences further into the future. 

He rubbed his cheek against the smooth fabric of Michael's hoodie and wrapped his hands around the larger man's torso. He still reeked of pinewood and cinnamon, and so uniquely Che. He couldn't force his crippling smile down. He pondered if he had ever felt this safe before, this calm. He reminisced back to his midnights with Scarlett, where he'd seldom arise like this. They slept close, but apart, she could've wrapped her legs around his from time to time, but they never cuddled. He never woke up with a warm feeling glooming in his chest from the way her chest rose and fell beneath him. Not like he felt right now.

He sensed how the body beneath him began to stir awake. His mind commanded him to  _ Go Up And Run, Colin, _ but his traitorous heart retreated to simply laying there, pretending to be asleep. Almost like an antelope, playing dead to escape a hunting lion. Michael groaned, still not fully conscious of his surroundings. He shuffled about for a bit, before slinging an arm over Colin, still partly asleep. Colin practically swooned as he glanced down and saw how the hem of his sleeping crush's shirt had slid up, exposing a glorious set of toned muscle. 

He couldn't help but stare at _ how fucking grand _ Che was. His sharp jaw, his broad shoulders, his thick thighs, his presumably huge-  _ nope.  _ He felt that he was starting to have  _ a bit of a problem,  _ and immediately disregarded those thoughts. Che eventually woke up, cracking his eyes open and staring directly into Colin's loof of hair. He seemed both confused and delighted by their little situation, the corner of his mouth curving up into a rather lopsided smile.

"You wanna' explain how in Lord's almighty's name we ended up here, Jost?" He asked, his voice partially obscured by Colin's hair. Colin spun around, still in Che's lap, and looked him in the eye. 

"I... don't really know, man. I'm sorry, I must've fallen asleep, or something," He said, finding it very troublesome not to cuddle closer into the man's embrace.

"Oh, ya' think? I'd assume so, since you woke up in my arms, Col," The way he said 'in my arms' made Colin's cheeks flush. It sounded so... passionate. So sincere. He giggled, still not removing himself from the couch. He was under the impression that Che actually didn't want him to. 

"Well, I don't know what you put in the chocolate yesterday, but I have no memory of how I ended up here, either. And taking advantage of an intoxicated person isn't buddies." He joked, hoping his unexpectedly blatant flirting didn't get across. Colin felt how Che's stomach bobbed as he chuckled. 

"You know, calling raping an intoxicated person 'not buddies' is kind of downplaying it, dude." They both laughed and Che, much to Colin's displeasure, shuffled up into sitting position on the sofa. He stretched his arms above his head and pulled his hoodie off him, leaving him in just his undershirt. As he took it off, the other shirt shifted up too, and Colin, being a reckless and stupid soul by nature, felt how his hand moved along the smooth and bare skin of Michael's ribs. Before his brain regained authority over his soon-to-be-amputated arm, he felt how the other man froze, and halted his movements. Colin removed his hand (in only one way, this time) and once again looked Che in the eye. 

The air felt thick and heavy. It was too much, too early. The day wasn't even theirs, yet. The sun had at least a few hours left until it would stand tall over the streets of Midtown. But right there, in their shared office, everything felt closer than ever. The silence felt loaded with electricity. So much unsaid. So many words still waiting to be spilt out, so many touches left untouched. Time felt altered as they sat close on that couch, the morning light just barely touching their silhouettes. 

Michael was the first to break their trance. He chuckled stiffly and shuffled away from Colin. He placed his feet on the carpet-covered ground beneath them and stood up. Colin sat up as well and draped his blanket around him like Klara had done in his apartment some nights ago. He watched as Che slowly pulled his sweatpants off, allowing them to drop to the floor. Colin gulped at the sight of the man before him, now only in boxers and his undershirt. He didn't even notice that Che was watching at him in the mirror.

"You sure Scarjo would approve of you, chekin' out other men, Jost?" He said in a teasing voice. Colin's cheeks were beet red. He suddenly realised that Che didn't know that he and Scarlett were broken up. He had completely forgotten to tell him, he had been so awestruck by the decorations in their office that it had completely abandoned his mind. He had to tell him, somehow.

"Eh, yeah. She wouldn't if we still were together," He said, pondering if he should elaborate further. He looked up and noticed that Che had paused the buttoning of his dress shirt. He didn't meet Colin's gaze in the mirror, but he believed he noticed how the taller man's eyes seemed to sparkle more than usual. 

"You guys broke up?" He said simply. Still not meeting Colin's eyes.

"Yeah, I finished things two nights ago, felt like it was time to move on," Colin replied. The air was still tense, with many questions and feelings hovering over them. Like a drone, waiting for its target. Che finally turned around and looked Colin up and down. 

"Move on to what, Jost?" He said. The question was short, but the meaning behind it felt like a deep and profound one. Colin didn't know how to answer. He felt exposed, naked, under Che's attentive eyes. He couldn't even form a sentence. He tried to swallow down the lumps of tension in his throat but in vain. Che, now dressed in a sharp white buttondown and a pair of grey suit trousers, took two steps over and halted. He gave Colin an obvious once-over and then leaned in, placing one hand on each side of his blanket-draped face, and whispered in his ear, "you're really red right now, Harvard." At that, he straightened up and walked out into the studio, leaving Colin lightheaded and flustered. 

He sank back to the couch and groaned in despair. 

"Oh boy, it's going to be one hell of a day, isn't it."


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More sexual tension, and a deeper dive into Colin's malfunctioning, lovesick brain. Also, we get some more Klara (someone wanted to see more of her, so here you go!) So sorry for being a bit slow on updates, I'm trying to finish the upcoming chapters and I've hit a halt. I'm back on track, though! I hope you enjoy this chapter, it is one of my favourites <3

He was just about to enter the read-through office when he heard it. "I think they slept together, because, you know, there's only one sofa, and I think we've all picked on the, well, sexual tension... haven't we?" Cecily mumbled to Alex and Mikey, who stood huddled together in the door. 

Colin's breath was caught in his throat, and his eyes darted wide open. They didn't think that him and Che... did they? But they did, god damn it. It was the only explanation. He just stared straight ahead and proceeded further into the jammed office. And jammed was an understatement. Since they hired essentially every remotely entertaining person in the New York-metropolitan area this season, their read-throughs were often attended by up to forty people, all attempting to fit in an office that was designed for conferences of 5-10 writers tops.

Since he was delayed, as usual, he's a busy man, (really, he just needs his Starbucks,) he didn't get a seat. His knees were already hurting from the night on the sofa, but his fractured liniment from a surfing accident two years ago surely didn't make it better. He really wanted to sit down, but his politeness told him to shut up and stand. He took place beside the velvet futon in the corner, where he noticed Che had made himself comfortable. 

"So, Pete, let's start with you. Got anything?" Lorne stated, silencing the entire room with his authoritative voice. Pete cleared his throat and said, "yeah, another Chad sketch, since, you know, it's Mulaney-week. We got to!" He looked around the room and saw some agreeing nods. "I'm thinking: we do Chad: Cold War Edition. Basically, it's Chad in a haunted house, but the hunted house is actually a Sovietian Gulag-prison camp from the '80s. And Chad, being Chad, doesn't have a clue that he's in danger and just walks around for a bit. I'm not really sure how, but I kind of want it to end with Chad accidentally becoming like the leader of Communist Soviet, or something," Pete finished and looked over at Lorne for approval. "That's really good, Pete. If you fix the ending, I'm sure we'll get it on the show," Lorne added. Pete smiled proudly. 

As they continued to go around the table, Colin felt how his legs became sorer and sorer, and he started moving around, trying to shift his balance, as to not put too much pressure on one of his knees. He groaned out loud and suddenly felt a warm and firm hand pulling him down. 

"Stop shifting and sit on my lap, dude," Che mumbled into his ear. He didn't know what to do. He was sitting on Michael's lap, before all of their coworkers _and his boss_. He felt how Michael put his hands on Colin's hips, and Colin, as to not seem like a pussy, decided that two could play that game. He began to shuffle around in the other man's lap, seemingly to regain a comfortable position. Che's hands went still and he noticed how the breaths he felt on his neck began to intensify. "Quit it," he heard him whisper, trying not to drag unwanted attention to the pair of them. Colin, being the little shit that he is, just twirled around once more and said: "what was that, Che? Something that's bothering you?". He didn't get a response, but he was satisfied anyways. He won this round of the game. 

The game. That was what it was, right? Just two guys, playing around teasingly, pushing the boundaries of each other. Colin wanted more, though. He didn't want this 'if I sit on your lap, will you push me off' game, he didn't want the shenanigans, he wanted something real. Like, going out for dinner dates, sharing a pot of popcorn at the cinema, (respectful) PDA at the office, sex after shows, Christmas dinners with Klara at their parent's houses, slow Sunday-mornings in bed with the sunlight peeking in through the blinds... He wanted all those things, he wanted Che, oh how badly he wanted him. But he knew, with every reasonable part of his brain, that he'd never build up the courage to enlighten him about his needs and wants. 

For now, those thoughts and preferences would stay, locked behind gigantic iron gates, in the secret garden he had built up in his heart. 

Where all the flowers were violet, Michael's favourite colour, and all the trees remained so delightfully green through the cold and lonely winter.

Where the birds would sing just for them, and where the waterfall would never run dry. There'd be a 1955 pink Cadillac Fleetwood, Michael's favourite car, waiting for them with the keys in the ignition, and the radio would play "Ain't No Mountain High" as they rode through the rolling greens of the northwest. 

Those thoughts would stay there, safely stored behind locked doors in his garden, until the time was right. They'll stay in that little part of all of us, that, no matter what, will always be ours alone. A place that only we can reach and no one else. There's always that secret place deep inside us that makes us tick, makes us who we are, and we are the only ones who can get there. The people we love may recognize it and see it, but they won't fully understand it. They don't have the keys that open those gates, no one does. Not even Michael seemed to be able to make it into his own Garden of Eden, his own paradise. 

The meeting came and went. Colin stayed on Che's lap the entire time, and once Lorne called for lunch, he got up and left without a word. He needed some air, some coffee, before facing Che again. He would do something stupid if he stayed, something reckless, like pushing him into supply closet F and kiss him right there on the spot. He couldn't let his Che-clouded mind control him anymore because even imagining kissing your straight best friend is the stupidest thing you could do on a Friday noon. But, much to his displeasure, he felt a familiar hand nudge at his elbow just as he was about to leave the building. 

"Jost, wait up buddy! Where are you headin', dude?" Che said, not removing his hand from Colin's arm. Colin looked him up and down. He was still wearing his elegant suit, presumably for a pre-shoot, and, lord save him, looked _delicious._ "Oh, I was just going out for some coffee, I'll be back in time, promise," he said, turning to leave the Greek God behind him. "Dude, what's wrong with you? We always get coffee together. Look, I'm sorry if I've done something, dude, but you gotta' tell me, so I know," Che declared, frustrated. Colin just kept on walking and felt Che's presence behind him, "it's nothing, I promise, Che, just... Let me be, would you?" He heard how his tone came across as angry, annoyed with Che's antics. But he really, really, needed some alone time. He saw a flash of hurt in Che's dark brown eyes. "Oh, then I'll, eh, leave you to it, dude." He turned his heel and walked back into the building. 

Colin felt like an asshole, but there was something in him that felt satisfied. He'd never told Che no before, never denying him anything. It made him feel as if he had at least some control over the situation. 

12.32 PM

SmallAndStupid:

Dude, stop moping and actually enter the Starbucks. I need my coffee

12.34 PM

Me:

how the hell do you know where I am, and whether-or-not I am moping? Klara, are you following me???

12.35 PM

SmallAndStupid:

I see everything, colin. hazelnut latte, Tripple shot, oat milk. You have five minutes.

12.36 PM

Me:

I hate you. see you soon. 

12.37 PM

SmallAndStupid:

<3

Colin, slightly petrified but mostly amused, just chuckled and went up to the Barista. God, he needed a drink.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter ahead, guys. "Operation: Saturday Night Love" is afoot, and our boys might not remain as clueless as before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also; this chapter is based very loosely on different Bruce Springsteen song-titles, and I could recommend listening to them in this order as you read;
> 
> Tougher Than The Rest, I'm On Fire, Hungry Heart, No Surrender, Prove It All Night, My Hometown, and Because The Night. Enjoy!

The words were running through his head. 

_"Let me be, would you?"_

It had broken Che's heart. They'd been playing around, or so Che'd thought, as he had pulled Colin down to his lap. He didn't think he had misread the situation. But he had, grossly, since why else would Colin suspiciously run out of the office and run for coffees without him? They'd know each other forever, and this had never happened before. He tried to refocus but failed. His thoughts were 100% Colin, Colin, Colin. He needed to apologize, or at least talk with him about what happened. Just as he stood up from his desk, he saw the man hurridly run past his office. Che dropped everything at his hands and ran after the running beauty in the hallway.

He didn't want to startle him, so he ran up and pulled slightly on Colin's arm. What happened next, he never would've imagined. Colin totally flipped out in full self-defence mode, impressive muscles stiffening, and from one moment to another, he had Che to the wall with his elbow on his throat and with his mouth only inches away from Che's. The hallway regained its loaded, thick atmosphere. They stood there for just a moment, although it felt like an eternity. The only thing Che could think was, "Fuck, you look hot as hell when you're all riled up and you've literally got me pinned to the wall, and Jesus Christ, there's so much sexual tension here, I can't be reading this wrong, holy shit-" Colin's breath felt hot and steamy on his face. 

Michael's mind shortcutted. He felt like he had a freight train running through his head. Colin made him higher than he'd ever been before, nothing could bring him down, nothing could cool his raging desire. His back felt soaking wet like his sheets would after a night of dreaming of the man before him. The one who had him pinned to the wall, a strong thigh between his trembling legs. He was on fire, burning hot fire, glowing from the man before him, closer than ever before. 

It was Colin's turn to lean in and whisper in his ear, "I'm done with these fucking games, Michael," he just straightened up and walked off. 

Holy fuck. Michael's entire body stood in flames. He needed to lay down, have some water, a beer, or preferably, multiple. He waddled back to his office and shook his head. No. He had work to do, Colin and his intoxicating smile and jaw and shoulders and- no. It could wait. It had to, they had a show to put on tomorrow, for god's sake. He just sat down at his desk again and got to work, trying to piece together how Chad would go from being in his bedroom to ending up in a Gulag-camp in Soviet Russia. 

"Hey, man. Leslie, Klara and I are going out for beers at the Croton Reservoir, you want to join?" Kate popped her head into the office around 10 PM. Che, tired from work but also thirsty for some numb-minding juice, let out a satisfied sigh. "Oh god, yes. Gimme' a minute and I'll meet you guys in the lobby," he said, stuffing his backpack full with scripts and notes. Kate nodded and left, Klara at her heel. 

As they waited for their Uber to pull up by the lobby, Che couldn't help but notice how Klara's legs seemed jumpier than usual (and he can't recall ever seeing them still). He looked over and saw her biting her lip, her fingers tapping her hipbone at a frantic pace. "Not today," Che mumbled as he nudged Kate and walked over to Klara. They sat down beside her and held both her of her shaking hands, Kate stroking her legs and Che patting her back to calm her nerves down. 

"Did you take your meds?" He asked, as her grip around his hand loosened, and her breath began to even out. "Yeah, It's just..." she looked up at Kate who gave her a knowing look. "A lot?" She filled in. Klara nodded and let her hands fall down to her knees. "It's fine, though. Serves me well to go out, I think. Don't really want to drink alone," she said, jokingly, but Che fixed her with a glare. "Don't you dare, Kay. If you drink, you die. Have I been clear?" Klara just flipped him off and got up to the Uber parked in front of them. 

The trio pulled up to the bar and went inside. It wasn't packed by any means, even though it was a Friday night. Leslie was standing by the bar, talking to the fedora-wearing bartender. Klara hung her grey coat over the booth they decided to occupy and made herself comfortable. 

The bar was a classic Rock and Roll one - the vintage jukebox in the corner blasted "Hungry Heart" by Bruce Springsteen, adding to the retro-sports vibe of the joint. The lights were yellow but the walls were rustic, creating a welcoming atmosphere, and Klara took a deep breath, soaking up the glory of after-work sessions. Kate came and sat down beside her, nurturing a craft beer, and Klara overheard Che telling Fedora-man that; "I want a beer, whatever strong you have, Les, you'll have a margarita, right?" Leslie nodded and gave Che a thankful kiss on the cheek. "Aight, and the little one... give her a cranberry juice, or something, but make it look like booze. You feel me, Fedora?" He nodded and handed Che the receipt. He scribbled down a hefty tip and handed it back over, turning around and resting by the bar for a moment as he waited for The Hat to finish his drinks. 

"Okay, ladies, so far so good," Leslie said as they were out Che's hearing reach. "Your brilliant 'Operation: Mental Health Crisis' was beautifully executed, Klara. I couldn't even tell that you were faking it!" Kate said, patting her on the back. Klara shot her best finger guns at the blonde and said "that's because I wasn't, I'm actually not doing too well, but I'll be fine for tonight, though. Can't miss this, can I?" Klara said, as Che came by and handed them their drinks, mumbling something bout having to use the bathroom. The trio smiled mischievously and Kate raised her glass. "Tonight, fellow citizens of this bar and companions in the battle that is trying to get our dumbasses to fuck, we make history. I want to thank Leslie for coming up with this excellent plan, and Klara for her excitement and engagement in making this happen. We shall never be defeated. No retreat, babies, no surrender! To matchmaking!" 

"To matchmaking!" The two ladies chanted. 

Che popped his head out from the toilets and raised a suspicious eyebrow. "What'chu gals talking about?" He came over and sat down, trying to listen in on their plans. "Oh, nothing. You know, girl stuff," Klara said, sipping her cranberry juice. Che didn't look impressed, "Klara, that might've worked in the '50s, or something. Welcome to the 21st century, where we share our secrets _with everyone_ , regardless of their gender," he stated. Leslie just rolled up her sleeves and leaned back in her chair, fixing him with a stern stare. Che visibly gulped and whispered, "Sorry, ma'am." They all chuckled, feeling lighter as they sipped and let their muscles relax. 

The bar remained empty for the rest of the evening, but the rock-music filled the void with pleasant cosiness. The group chattered for some time, joking about Klara's juice; "You're work-place bullying me! You guys are ageists, and HR will be hearing about this!", and debating whether Hillary Clinton or Chancellor Angela Merkel wore pantsuit best. Leslie and Klara were Team Clinton, whilst Che and Kate reckoned that Merkel rocked it better. 

Klara loved going to bars with her friends, but when they're getting drunker and drunker and you're apparently on prohibition right now, it wasn't always so fun. But the air was calming, and her virgin juice was sweet, so she just hung back and listened to her friends' bickering, not really participating in the tipsy conversation.

Che was once again at the bar, this time slightly wobblier than before, and the ladies gathered close at the table to discuss the next stage. "So, I'm thinking, we leave now, and if we're lucky," Leslie abruptly stopped talking to join in on Kate, wheezing and giggling uncontrollably at Che, who'd managed to drop his beer over the bar and desperately tried to dry it up with the hat he had snatched from the bartender. Klara sighed at her drunken friends' behaviour, and if they weren't as flushed as they were, they would've heard her groan out that "Amazon really needs to send her some new fucking friends, huh." 

She swatted them both over the head and said, "focus up, guys! I just texted Colin from Kate's phone, he's on his way over here, under the impression that he's meeting up with only us gals. When he gets here, we force Che into the bathroom, I pull my mental health-card, you guys say you're going to keep me company on the subway, we leave them to it. Okay? Sound's good?" She said, meeting only to blank faces and some more sudden giggling. She groaned and put her head on the sticky bar table. 

"I'm five shots in and ready to party!" A rather drunk Colin announced as he walked up to their booth. The ladies looked at each other and Klara stood up and hugged the taller man. "It's good to see you, man, but sorry Col, we're heading home. I'm not feeling well and I think I forgot my meds this morning," she said, only half-lying. Colin looked at her with confused and doped eyes. "Oh, okay..." he said, trying to mask the blooming hurt in his chest. Klara hugged him harder and let go. "I'll see you tomorrow, Colin. We've ordered you a drink, though. It's a whiskey sour, on us. Have fun, and call if you need help getting home," she stated, in the same voice Che used on her whenever she had troubling anxiety. Colin answered with a pout and a side-hug and said his goodbyes to the other women before they headed out in the night.

Colin went over to the bar and sat down on a stool, waiting patiently for his drink. He began to think about his day, and how pleasant it had been to wake up cuddling Che. How beautiful Che had looked in his suit, how strong his arms had felt on his hips as he was sitting on his lap, how bewildered he had looked when Colin had him pinned to the wall. His mind was mostly Che, Che, Che. 

"God, what have I become? Some high school nerd that's desperately in love with the football quarterback, that's what I am now. Pathetic. I'm not fifteen anymore, god damn it," he muttered to himself, as he took a swig of the whiskey the bartender had served him. 

"Talking to yo' self? That's a new worst, Jost," a familiar voice said to his left. He spun around and saw his crush magically appear before his dull eyes. Still in his new, sharp suit. He didn't even question how they ended up at the same bar. Okay, maybe he was _just a little bit_ drunk.

"Speaking of the devil," he said, smiling. Che looked confused. "You were talking 'bout me, now?" He slurred and singled down the bartender for another beer. His fifth... or sixth? He didn't really know or care. The man in front of him felt more important. Colin blushed, probably from the alcohol burning in his throat. 

"Oh, you know, just the show tomorrow," Colin answered, trying to seem nonchalant. Che raised an insinuating eyebrow and asked if "That's really all you're thinkin' bout, Harvard?" Colin didn't answer but smiled a drunken smile. "Not something in the style of 'wow, Che looks great in his new suit,' or like, 'I am drunk and alone at a bar at 11 PM, I should call my best friend Che', no?" Colin laughed and said, "dude, I think all my friends are mindreaders." He knows he shouldn't say so much, he's letting his guard down, but he's too drunk, on whiskeys and on Che, to care anyways. 

They sat there for some time, sharing stories and talking about past relationships over drinks and shots. Colin began to sweat, the alcohol heating him up. "God, it's a fucking sauna in here," he complained. Che groaned, "dude, that's like the fourth time you've said that already. If you complain about the heat one more time then I'll give you a real reason to sweat. Maybe I'll just have to rip your shirt off," Colin gulped, feeling flushed. "Oh, is that so? I dare you."

Colin felt how he was pulled in by Che's unsurprisingly strong underarms and the other man whispered in his ear, "I want to do something reckless, Col," before leaning back and downing another shot. Colin smirked and whispered back, "I'm reckless, do me." Che choked on his drink, laughing and blushing. "Dangerous statements, dude. Nah, you know, I was thinkin', like, karaoke, or something," Colin laughed it off and pulled the other man up on stage.

The bar was relatively empty as they took the stage and grabbed their microphones. The jukebox was still playing Bruce Springsteen, and they listened as last notes of "My Hometown" faded out, before being replaced with "Because The Night". The first chords came and went in a drunken haze, and even though the pair couldn't hold a tune to save their lives, they managed to get some scattered whistles as they carried on through the verse. 

_"Take me now, baby, here as I am_

_Pull me close, try and understand_

_Desire is hunger is the fire I breathe_

_Love is a banquet on which we feed"_

Michael abandoned the microphone to perform a confusing but exciting air-guitar-solo. He closed his eyes and did his best Prince-imitation, hearing Colin laugh uncontrollably beside him. He opened his eyes as the solo came to an end to grab his microphone. The lights on the stage blinded them both, and the lyrics pouring out from the jukebox pounded in their heads. 

_"Forgive, the yearning burning, I believe it's time, too real to feel,_ " Colin sang _,_ leaving Che to stare. Colin turned around as the verse neared the chorus and felt how he was being pulled into Che by a magical force.

_"So touch me now, touch me now, touch me now,"_

Che held his breath. They were so close that he could feel Colin's breath on his cheek, could hear his heart beating in his chest. They abandoned the song, but it continued to blast out from the speakers. They could barely see anything with the fluorescent lights shining them right in their eyes. The deep voice of Springsteen was the only thing that penetrated the thick air around them. Everything became blurry, and the piano became a distant ringing in their ears. It all went on so slow - no one dared to take the last step. To cross the line. To brake a rule in the game that is them. The game that had been going on for the last seven years, since that morning in their new office. Che's hand came up and cupped Colin's jaw, feeling how it clenched under his long, dark, fingers. Colin saw him staring at his lips, how his eyelashes fluttered. 

_"Because the night belongs to lovers_

_Because the night belongs to lust_

_Because the night belongs to lovers_

_Because the night belongs to us"_

And then, the gap of seven sleepless years, seven confusing, upsetting, screaming, crying, fighting, desperate years closed, as Michael's dry, beautiful lips met his. The kiss was quick, sudden, so sudden that Colin didn't get the chance to kiss back before the other man pulled away and shook his head. "I'm sorry, I must've read this wrong, I'm... I'll just go," he whispered, hurt cracking his voice in two. 

Colin looked at him once with hungry, lustful eyes, before pulling the taller man back into his arms and planted his lips back where they belonged. Michael keened into the kiss, this one sloppier, heavier, than the first. Colin had to stand on his tippy toes to reach, and so Che pulled him up by the waist to deepen the pulsating kiss. 

Colin, for the first time since he had met the man of his dreams seven years ago, finally felt complete. The void that had been inside of his dark soul for too damn long, the one he had tried to fill up with drinks, with work, with Scarlett, finally faded away, as his lips moved in sync with Michael's. Michael's lips. On his lips. It was almost too good to be true.

It sparked something in him, and when Che's hand went up under his shirt, he couldn't resist gasping out loud. He clung around Michael's broad shoulders, feeling dizzy on the alcohol, but craving Che. Someone wolf-whistled at them, and Michael put him down. The microphones dangled from the stands, and the Jukebox sang the last tunes of the song as he took him by the hand as he hungrily dragged the man out of the bar and into the dark New Yorkian night. 

_"Because the night belongs to lovers_

_Because the night belongs to us"_


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next to last chapter. I'm so god damn emotional. Colin and Michael take the leap.

The city that never slept snored peacefully outside of Colin's bedroom window. The wee small rays of the morning sun filled the roomed up with a beautiful six AM glow. The pair was fast asleep, dreaming hungover dreams of each other. Colin's bare chest was pressed snuggly into Michael's naked torso. Their legs were entangled, like their hearts had been for oh, so long. 

Naked bodies, unconsciously resting in the warm embrace of each other, oblivious to the world, or to which cards the sober morning might deal them. What the cruel, cruel, world has in store for them. 

Michael was the first to rise from the blissful sleep. He rolled about for a minute before his mind caught up with his surroundings. He remembered the entire night, Colin alone at the bar, the flirting, how Colin had pulled him up on stage, how they'd kissed with all the lights in the world shining on them, how he had dragged him back to his place... it felt like a fever dream. It was too early to be up, but Michael's back was hurting from last nights, ehm,  _ events,  _ and his stomach growled angrily at him. He bent down and planted a kiss on Colin's forehead, where it usually would be a big swirl of hair, neatly fixed up with every gel-product in the world, but where there now was a sea of messy curls tracking his cheekbones and flopping innocently on his eyelashes, as they fluttered in his sleep. It caused Michael's heart to do something very weird. 

Colin's kitchen was smaller than his but had a lovely kitchen island, on top of which there was a photograph that caught his eye. It was Colin and himself on Michael's couch, five years ago, laughing and drinking. Che remembered it perfectly, he had hosted a party at his house, only to be able to actually talk with the golden god at work. His sister had forced him, yelling through the phone that "boy, this is your shot! You have to ask him to come, or I might steal him!" Che had joked it off, "Trish, he's way too vanilla for you." Che chuckled at the memory, because... no, he really isn't. 

The vintage stereo by Colin's fridge played Frank Sinatra, as he swayed around the kitchen, dodging pans and pots, finishing the breakfast up. His head pounded with hungover-headache, but the smell of grossly fat bacon cured him. He smiled at how he instinctively pour more oat milk in Colin's coffee, combined with two sugars and some soy cream. He was sleeping with a sweet tooth, wasn't he?

He loaded a tray full with a gigantic pile of hungover-bacon and coffees and began to move back into the bedroom. The sun had been replaced by massive stormclouds, and snow was sinking down from the great skies above. He made a mental note to check the forecast, he really didn't want to miss the show because of the weather.

He silently pushed the door open and saw a still-sleeping Colin cuddled up under the blanket. It was the sweetest thing Che had ever seen. He sat down beside the sleeping beauty and put the tray on the bed. He slowly nudged Colin's side to wake him up, whispering, "Colin, wake up, darling." The other man just rolled over and faced the wall, wrapping the duvet closer around him. 

Che chuckled and said, a bit louder this time, that "well, then I guess I'll just have to eat this gigantic pile of glorious hungover-bacon all alone, right? Ah, it's so much! And it's so shiny from all the grease! Oh, well, what can I do?" Colin's tired eyes popped up behind the wall of fluffy duvets at the mention of bacon.

"'M tired," he mumbled, edging further forward and cuddled up in Che's lap like a kitten. Michael's heart barely remembered to beat. Michael took a swig of his coffee and felt a kiss on his bare chest. He looked down and saw Colin's red cheeks dimple from a tired smile, partially hidden under his glorious hair. "Love your bedhead," Che whispered. 

Colin groaned, "I shouldn't have taken that last shot. I'm sore in all the weirdest spots." Michael almost spat out his coffee from laughing. But then an unwelcomed thought hit him. "You regret it, don't you?" Che said, as if he didn't really care. As if his entire well-being didn't rely on this very moment. 

Colin dropped his bacon-covered fork and placed his head on Che's stomach. He examined his face for a bit - how his glowing skin shone, how his brown iris reflected in the morning sun that was shining through the bedroom.

"Che, listen to me," he paused for coffee, "I do regret it. I regret it so much, and I'll never let myself off the hook for it." Che felt dead. He felt his soul leave his body, how he was bleeding out, how everything he had wanted for the last years slipped away from him like he was trying to remember the last bits of a dream, but the more he tried, the further away into his subconscious they sailed. He got up to leave, to storm off when he felt a warm and strong hand on his shoulder. He turned around and looked at Colin's surprisingly desperate eyes.

"Michael, sit down. I asked you to listen." Michael sat back down but didn't reach back for Colin's welcoming arms. He just sat there, naked and exposed on Colin bed, with his heart on his sleeve. Colin searched for his eyes, but Michael didn't dare to meet them. Everything could be over, right here, right now. Their friendship, their careers, their seven-year-old game. 

"I don't regret last night. I regret all the nights, the days, before, when I was too scared to tell you... when I was too scared to tell you that- that I..." Colin finally lost it, and forcefully pulled Che into his embrace for a bone-crushing hug. He was heaving, and Michael's shoulder got wet with tears. 

"I fucking... oh, god, I- Michael, I fucking love you." 

Michael's chest blossomed. Every stone that had been sinking him down vaporized and the chains that all hung around him fell away, at last, leaving only a glowing, radiating feeling of __ love. _ Love. _ He pulled back and stared at the crying man, the one he loved, and reach forward to kiss his lips. It was hungry and warm but different from yesterday's lustful kisses. 

This was slow, tender, with foreheads pressing together. With the light from the city they both loved, their New York, in their heads, and with each other in their arms. When they parted for air, Colin couldn't keep his eyes open. Che reached up and gently stroked his thumb over his chapped lips. Colin opened his mouth and whispered, "I want to hear you say it, Michael. I want to hear you say it." Michael took his hands in his and tenderly kissed his knuckles. 

"Colin, I've been so lost. I've been fumbling in the dark, trying to reach something, someone. I've never found my way out of the tunnel, never seen the light, before I met you. I've- I've never met someone like you before. You're all kinds of beautiful. My past girlfriends and boyfriends, they all felt like replacements, like replacements for you. When we met, I knew from the start that I was meant to meet you. That some freaky destiny put me in your office, that morning back in -13. Oh, I've been so close, so many times, to tell you. To yell out how you gave a home, how you gave me a reason, how you helped me, how your annoyingly unwavering morals encourage me to become a better man. A better me," Che put his hands around Colin and reached up to play with the curls on the nape of his neck. He took a deep breath, in and out.

"You are the love of my life, Colin. You are the light at the end of my tunnel."

Colin kissed him. Kissed him with every last bit of abandonment his soul. With salty tears rolling down their cheeks, and with trembling lips, they vowed to never leave, to never let go again. 

They pulled back and Michael raised his coffee mug. "To us," he cheered.

"To us," Colin answered, clunking his mug with Che's. "Us, huh. I can get used to that."

_ "Oh my god,"  _ someone screamed from the doorway. They both turned around to face the obnoxious noise. "You did it! Oh, god, Lord is real! My dads, I am so alive! I have to tell Kate, I can't believe this finally happened, I've waited fucking years for this..." Klara screamed, jumping up and down. She ran over and was just about to hug them both when he looked them up and down and halted, "wait, you guys aren't dressed... I, yeah, I'll just stand here instead. Don't want to get your love-babies on me, thank you very much." Che and Colin both groaned at her disgusting phrasing. Klara's expression changed to a fond one, and she looked at her friends with earnest gratitude. 

"I am so proud of you, guys. Both of you. You're a pair of completely stupid dumbasses, but I love you so much. So much," She sat down on the bed. "Che, you gave me a home when I felt lost, and you've provided me with love and appreciation since day one. And Colin, you've been there for me when I needed it the most, always by my side and always ready to listen. New York is huge and without you guys, I would never have stayed. I felt intimidated, overwhelmed, but you sat me up behind the wheel and showed me around the town that would go on to become my hometown, my darling New York. Thank you, guys," She beamed, letting her words settle in. "But no naked fucking butts on my couch, capiche?" Che laughed it off, "Yes, m'am." She kissed them both on their cheeks and left for work. The pair remained cuddled up on the bed, with the heavy snow outside bringing them a mindnumbing rest.

"Colin?" Che said after some time of silence. "Mhm?" Colin answered with his mouth stuffed full of bacon. Che looked out of the window, and then back at Colin.

"I want to do this more often," Che stated. Colin studied him with a raised eyebrow, "Having sex, or breakfast in bed?" Che kissed his forehead. "Both." Colin traced patterns over his naked chest, "was that a boyfriend-proposal, Michael Che?" 

Che glanced at Colin's little curls, and how his eyes looked puffy and slightly reddened. "Depends... what's your answer?" Colin gave him a knowing smile and planted a kiss on his lips. "Got to know the question first, Che," he teased. Che groaned, but his adoration peeked through. 

"Would you like to be my boyfriend, Colin?" He tried to seem chill, but his nervously fidgeting fingers spoke volumes. Colin put his trembling hands in his and looked him in the eye, blues meeting browns.

"Yes, I, Colin Kelly Jost would love to be your boyfriend, Michael Che."

"You're such a smartass," Che mumbled as he dragged Colin in for another kiss. " Yeah. But guess what?" Che raised a confused eyebrow.''

"I am  _ your _ smartass."


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the last chapter, the epilogue. This is it, guys. Thank you, so, so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Wow. I am sort of crying right now? I need to sit down. 
> 
> Basically, this is the first work I've ever written. It has been a progress, and it has been the most challenging yet satisfying task I've ever done. I've poured my heart and soul into the story, and it is as much Che and Colin as it is me, and my life. I've even stolen some scenes from my life and put them into the story, like when Colin and Klara had bagels at three AM, or when a very drunk Klara fell down and broke the water cooler. 
> 
> And it has been very personal to me, this story. I am not a native English speaker, none of my parents speak English and I've learned all I know from scratch (thank you, internet!). So this has been a way of proving to myself that I can. I can write, I can express emotions, and I can accomplish something. 
> 
> Thank you SO SO SO SO MUCH to everyone who read the story, and especially to those who left kudos, but first and foremost to those who left comments. You encouraged me to continue writing and you are the reason this story has an ending. Thank you.
> 
> There is more to come - I've got plans to write shorter stories soon, maybe a high school AU or a groupchat-fic.
> 
> Once again - thank you.

Bill, dressed as the absurdly hilarious Stefon, was just done with explaining what a human squattipattie was, and the segment was coming to an end. "Okay, thank you for coming, Stefon, but I think you need to leave," Che said. Stefon looked him up and down. "Oh, you don't have to thank me for coming... I'd be coming for you any time," he said with a flirty smirk.

"Hey, he's taken! And Michael and I don't do three's" Colin yelled, fake-punching Stefon in the face. The crowd didn't know if he was kidding or not.

"Stefon, everybody!" Michael called. The pair turned to the camera and Colin yelled, "for Weekend Update, I'm Colin Jost, and that's my boyfriend, Michael Che! Goodnight!" The crowd went insane, people screamed and clapped, and the mic-men had to take their headphones off to not lose their hearing. They kissed, lights blinding them like they'd done the night before. They parted and Michael spotted two very excited women jumping up and down in the hallway.

Michael took his boyfriend's hand is his, and together they walked off the stage, into the spotlights, and into their new life.


End file.
